VOL18_3.txt

   
      
         
            Abusing the King's English



            
               ...here will be an old abusing of God's patience
and the king's English.

               
                  The Merry Wives of Windsor (i.4.5-6)
            

            Although Rex Harrison died over a year ago,
some of his fans still regret that, apart from
one try in Much Ado About Nothing , he had never
done a Shakespearean comedy.  With what acerbic
suavity would he have retorted to Katherina's “...
and so farewell,” with “What! with my tongue in
your tail?”  The Taming of the Shrew (ii.1.217).  Indeed,
Shakespeare would have been delighted by a
Harrison rendition of many of the more than a thousand
naughty passages that have so diligently been
compiled by Eric Partridge in his Shakespeare's
Bawdry .  Partridge's are all instances of intentionally
naughty entries.  But far more hilarious are those
items penned by the Bard that were never intended
to shock or amuse a future evil-minded generation
such as ours with indelicate, let alone indecent, suggestiveness,
Rex Harrison or no!

            In Othello (v.2.266), even the most unflappable
reader must gasp at the Moor's offer to Gratiano:
“Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,” nor
will his guffaws entirely abate after he learns that
butt here means goal .  In Twelfth Night (v.1.126), it
would appear that Duke Orsino was not fully aware
of what was befalling him when he admitted to
Olivia that “I partly know the instrument that
screws me.”  In Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music
(I.15), we find the puzzling howler, “Then lullaby,
the learned man hath got the lady gay.”  Gay is used
here as a compliment, but today's jaded reader will
snicker at the line.  In King Lear (iii.3.15 et seq.),
one is comforted to note that the generous Gloucester
is eager to become the wretched Lear's nurse's
aide, as he assures Edmund that “I will seek him and
privily relieve him...the king, my old master,
must be relieved.”  In Macbeth (v.3.54), your normally
prurient theater-goer may well sense a hint of
Onan when Macbeth orders the Doctor to “Pull't
off, I say.”  In Hamlet (iv.7.85), the King seems to be
hinting rather indelicately to Laertes that Lamord,
the Norman horseman, had beefed up a bit, when he
picturesquely notes that “...he grew into his
seat.”  Similarly, in Troilus and Cressida (i.3.31-33),
Nestor offers Agamemnon this flattering description
of a monarch's royal behind:


With due observance of thy god-like seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words.

            

            And never mind that seat in both quotes means
throne.  In King John (ii.1.413-14), even the gentlest
reader may be forgiven for wondering what in
the name of propriety is going on in the armies of
Austria and France, when the Bastard informs King
John that


From north to south
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.

            

            One should note another category made up of
various terms and phrases that have a decidedly
modern flavor that is not quite what our playwright
had intended for them.  These are items that may
raise the stiffest eyebrows, as in Cymbeline
(iii.3.21-2), where the reader may infer that the
mail service was just as deficient then as it is today,
when Belarius gripes to his sons, Guiderius and Arvigarus,


O! this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,

            

            --or maybe the check was not even in the mail.

            Were Shakespeare writing today, he might have
to revise some passages in order to avoid misunderstanding,
as might be the case with Scarus's declaration
to Antony in Antony and Cleopatra (iv.7.9-10)
that


I have yet
Room for six scotches more.

            

            Though Scarus's reference is to cuts or gashes, today's
in genuous reader might well assume that
Scarus was preparing to go on a bender.  In the
opening chorus of King Henry V , lines 11-12, there
is asked


can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France?

            

            No anachronism here, of course, as cockpit refers,
not to a part of an airplane, but to an enclosed place
for fighting cocks and, in a transferred sense, to a
circular theater.  When Katharina tells Petruchio in
The Taming of the Shrew (iii.2.214) “You may be jogging
whiles your boots are green,” she was referring
to transportation by horse and not to our current
physical fitness mania.  And the “puke-stocking”
mentioned by Prince Henry in 1 Henry IV
(ii.4.79-80) is not a reference to the hosiery worn
by our kind of jogger, but to a dark woolen cloth.  Is
there a more up-to-date cliché than tender loving
care?  In 2 Henry VI (iii.2.279-80), the king issues
the command:


Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care.

            

            Here are some other noteworthy current terms
used by Shakespeare:

            
               good brother -- this expression of common present
usage is found in Julius Caesar (iv.3.236) where,
after Cassius had bidden him good-night, Brutus
replies, “Good-night, good brother.”

            
               not so hot -- Goneril says this to Regan, King Lear
(v. 3.67).

            
               pent-house -- Macbeth (i.3.19-20):


Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid.

            

            But pent-house here refers to eyelids, not to a lavish
apartment.

            
               eye-sore -- The Taming of the Shrew (iii.2.103-4),
Baptista to Petrucchio:


Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
eye-sore to our solemn festival.

            

            Also, in The Rape of Lucrece (lines 204-5):


Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
be an eye-sore in my golden coat.

            

            This contemporary term, incidentally, was first recorded,
according to the Second Edition of The Random
House Unabridged , around 1250-1300.

            
               to do (someone) wrong -- The Rape of Lucrece , line
1462:


And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,

            

            and in King Lear (i.2.186), Edgar complaints:


Some villain hath done me wrong.

            

            Both lines anteceded by centuries Frankie and
Johnny , not to mention Mae West.

            
               turn off -- in Antony and Cleapatra (iii.6.93-4), Mecaenas
tells Octavia:


Only the adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off.

            

            
               RH-II notes that turn off is slang for “something or
someone that makes one unsympathetic or antagonistic,”
dating the entry 1680-90.

            
               like to -- In Pericles (iv.2.80), Marina says, “To
'scape his hands where I was like to die.”  RH-II
labels this current expression to be of South Midland
and southern U.S. origin and means “to be on
the verge of.”

            
               poop -- In Pericles (iv.2.25), as he relates what the
“little baggage” did to the Transylvanian in the
brothel, Boult says that “she quickly pooped
him,” meaning that she overwhelmed him.  In today's
slang, pooped has the sense of exhausted , and
sometimes worse.

            Shakespeare even managed to insert a bit of
what sounds like current Anglo-Yiddish slang.  In
two instances, both found in Venus and Adonis ,
namely, line 617:

            Whose tushes never sheath's he whetteth still,
and line 624:

            And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay,

            
               tushes means tusks .  But tush , or tushie , is current
slang for buttocks , an apparent alteration of the Yiddish
tokhes , of like meaning.

            Ah, but it is the unintentional humor we return
to for our heartiest laughs!  In The Rape of Lucrece ,
lines 780-81, we know that “he” refers to the sun,
but we may be forgiven if we assume that Tarquin is
meant, considering that gentleman's passionate activities
of the night before with Lucrece:


The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary', noontide prick.

            

            Then there is this passage in Troilus and Cressida
(i.3.343) that has been distinguished by being
placed just before the index to the eleventh edition
of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations (New York, W.F.
Collier & Son, 1937):


And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large.

            

            Could this be a commentary on what an arousal can
do for a man's morale?

            Ah, but one final image remains ever green!  It is
that of a future Rex Harrison in the role of Armado
in Love's Labour's Lost (v.1.111-13) expressing to
Holofernes his feelings toward his monarch, as he
avows how he would gladly permit his king “to lean
upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger,
thus dally with my excrement.”  Nor is the vividness
of this tableau entirely diminished when one notes
that, as here used, excrement is a synonym for hair .

            It is too cynical to foresee that some irreverent
smarty-pants will one day pry and dig and garner
further items of unintentional humor out of our supreme
poet's writings?  Is it too fanciful to predict
that many of the Bard's words are, even now, lying
low awaiting the coming of the inevitable day when
they shall become of the bright, new-minted, contemporary
expressions of tomorrow?
         
         
            
“Serious crime down, but murders increase.”  [From
the Rocky Mountain News , Denver, Colorado, .  Submitted by ]

         
         
            
“Other cities around the nation will sponsor crime
prevention awareness activities tonight, but not Olean.
Candlelight marches, children's activities and block parties
will take place as neighbors unite to speak out against
crime prevention across the country.”  [From the Olean
Times Herald , .  Submitted by 
]

         
         
            
“One thousand marijuana plants have been seized in
a joint police investigation near here Monday.”  [From the
Kitchener-Waterloo (Canada) Record , .
Submitted by ]

         
         
            
“The podium erected in front of building A was surrounded
by a semicircle of spectators on wooden chairs.”
[From Doctors by Erich Segal, p. 316. Submitted by ]
         
         
            
“Each of the four rings were positioned inside each
other.”  [From an article on laser capability in Job Shop
Technology , .  Submitted by 
]
         
         
            Names of Santa Fe



            According to some authorities, when the present
capital of New Mexico was founded by Spanish
colonizers in 1610, it was named La Villa Real de
Santa Fe de San Francisco de Asís .  In later versions
this grandiloquent title, really more a dedication
than a name, sometimes has the definite article la
inserted between de and Santa , which changes the
meaning from Saint Francis of Assisi's Royal City of
Holy Faith to the Royal City of the Holy Faith of Saint
Francis of Assisi .  In modern times at least, and possibly
since its founding, the capital, no longer royal,
has been known simply as Santa Fe .  Since Romance
derivatives of Latin sanctus mean holy as well as
saint , the Spanish name today, like the same name
for several towns in countries of Spanish culture,
means in English `Holy Faith.'  Incidentally, English-speaking
writers more used to French than to Spanish
names often misspell the name: “Sante Fe.”

            By whatever name, Santa Fe is nestled in the
foothills of a cordilleran spur called the Sangre de
Cristos .  No one really knows how this mountain
range came to be named for the Blood of Christ, but
educated guesses are not lacking.  At sunset these
mountains are sometimes suffused with a rosy glow
that some romantis souls like to think could have
inspired the descriptive name.  However, sixteenth-century
Spaniards and their descendants were too
literal about their religion and too indifferent to nature
to be inspired by sunsets.  A more probable explanation
attributed to a thoughtful historian named
Bill Tate is that cruciform crevasses, in winter filled
with snow, that are visible on the mountainside from
San Gabriel, the first Spanish capital, reminded Juan
de Oñate, the leader of the first successful Spanish
colonizing expedition, of the cross he wore to symbolize
membership in a lay religious order devoted
to reverence for the Precious Blood of Christ.  The
trouble here is that according to T.M. Pearce's New
Mexico Place Names as late as 1790 the range was
called Sierra Madre and has been called by its present
name only since the early nineteenth century.
The most plausible etymology, in my opinion, suggested
by the learned Fr. Benedicto Cuesta among
others, is that the range took its name from penitente
chapels or shrines in its foothills consecrated
to the Redeeming Blood of Christ at a time when in
the Spanish empire such chapels were so numerous
that Blood of Christ was practically synonymous with
chapel .

            By modern standards the Spanish colonial and
briefly Mexican capital of New Mexico was more a
village than a city.  Almost as the Spaniards founded
their capital on the ruins of an Indian pueblo, the
American conquerors of New Mexico built their territorial
capital on and around a dilapidated Spanish-Mexican
core, little of which remains today.  The
city of some 55,000 as it exists today derives much
more from the town built by Anglos who have been
attracted here since the mid nineteenth century
than from the Spanish-Mexican colonists and their
descendants who populated the tiny frontier capital
for over two centuries previously.

            The names and architecture of Santa Fe have
gone through three parallel stages in a parabolic
course.  The original architecture was Andalusian filtered
through the tastes and customs of Mexico
(then called New Spain) and further modified by the
materials available and the centuries-old experience
of the Pueblo Indians.  The walls were of adobe,
which to the first Anglos was mud, pure and simple.
In north Texas adobe bricks were even called “Dallas
stiff-muds.”  The roofs were flat and supported
by trimmed logs called vigas , and they leaked.  To
most Victorian Anglo-Americans the houses of Santa
Fe, even the sprawling governor's palace, were at
best unrefined and at worst squalid.  So in the second
stage of construction the “primitive” structures
of the Spanish-colonial past were gradually replaced
and surrounded by more “proper” architecture.
The relatively grand new cathedral, for instance,
was built in the style of Archbishop Lamy's native
Provence.  Aside from a scattering of historic colonial
buildings around and near the plaza, the oldest
buildings in Santa Fe tend to be in a style that owes
more to the American Midwest and East than to Hispanic
or Indian origins.  Then came the third stage
early in the twentieth century, when Santa Fe was
invaded by a more sophisticated, in some cases artistic,
cosmopolitan kind of Anglo-American that recognized
the esthetic value and appreciated the exotic
charm of the surviving bits of the colonial town
and began to cultivate a revival.  Others, Hispanic
and Anglo, came to see in this revival commercial
potential, and modified versions of the old Pueblo
and Territorial styles have dominated, indeed monopolized,
architecture in the capital ever since.

            Nomenclature has tended to parallel the physical
metamorphoses of Santa Fe.  At first and
throughout the seventeenth century there were no
streets to bear names, only a nameless quasi-street
leading a short way from the parish church.  A Friar
Dominguez is quoted by Adrian H. Bustamente in
Santa Fe--History of an Ancient City as describing
the villa in 1776, the year of American independence
from British rule, as consisting of “many small
ranches at various distances from one another, with
no plan as to their location, for each owner built as
he was able, wished to, or found convenient, now for
the little farms they have there, now for small herds
of clattle which they keep in corrals of stakes, or else
for other reasons.”  Such place names as there were
applied to clusters of buildings, such as casas reales
(“royal houses”), renamed Palace of the Governors
by the Anglo-Americans, or Barrio de Analco for the
cluster that housed Mexican-Indians.  ( Analco is Nahuatl,
the language of the Aztecs, and means `on the
other side' [of the river].)  Roads entering the settlement
were called by the names of the towns or
places to which they led, such as Camino de Pecos,
Camino del Alamo, or Camino de la Canada .  And
eventually physical features such a main irrigation
ditch ( acequia madre ) or the wall that enclosed the
official buildings gave their names to streets associated
with these features.  But the oldest streets in
the modern city date back to the Anglo-American
occupation and reconstruction and therefore have
such basically English names as: Washington, Lincoln,
Palace Avenue, San Francisco Street, Cathedral
Place , and so on.  These streets and their names correspond
to the architecture of the first wave of Anglo-American
occupation.  Likewise the period of
revival of Pueblo-colonial architecture in the twentieth
century corresponds to an attempt to revive
Spanish, or at least historic nomenclature.  So the
recently constructed loop around the inner city has
been named Paseo de Peralta .  The thoroughfare entering
town from the south that was originally called
Telegraph Street because the telegraph line ran along
it and was later renamed College Street because St.
Michael's College was built there is now romantically
called Old Santa Fe Trail .

            It is in the often hastily constructed and hastily
named developments on the edges of Santa Fe that
the names are most feverishly given.  In Santa Fe,
where the Hispanic heritage and population remain
considerable, the new pseudo-Spanish names are
more apt to be correct than in, say, California or
Tucson.  Nevertheless, there are many cases of developers'
pidgin.  The most common solecisms are
those of syntax and grammatical gender.  Though
there are plenty of examples to show that some
namers of streets in Santa Fe are aware that in Spanish
a definitive modifier follows the modified word,
so that there are streets properly named, for instance,
Camino Cerrito, Calle Lorca , or Plaza Fatima ,
there are other street names that betray oblivion to
this grammatical rule, for example: Monte Vista
Place or Cielo Vista Court where Monte Vista and
Cielo Vista are supposed to mean respectively Mountain
View and Sky View but, so far as they signify
anything, really mean View Mountain and View Sky
or Heaven .  Even more common in Santa Fe are
names in which adjectives fail to agree as to gender
with the nouns they modify, for example: Calle
Largo, Calle Lejano , or Calle Contento .  This error
may be due in part to the English tendency to reduce
all unaccented final vowels to schwa and in
part due to the fact that Spanish adjectives are listed
in dictionaries in their masculine forms only.  Also,
out of context Spanish adjectives are thought of as
masculine.

            One can imagine a bulldozer operator as he
blades out a road for a new development being
hailed by the developer thus: “Hey, Loyd ...”
(Here I should explain that there is a fairly recent
new tendency to give Spanish-surnamed babies jarringly
un-Spanish first names, which results in such
oddities as Loyd Martinez or Priscilla Chavez.  In
this practice, I believe, we are happily lagging behind
the Brazilians.)  “Hey Loyd, how do you say
long in Spanish?”  To which Loyd Martinez, bilingual,
might reply, “Largo.”

            “So Long Street would be Largo Calle? ”  (To the
Anglo ear the final o , an a , and perhaps the e of calle
are schwa.)

            “No, turn it around: Calle Larga .”

            “Oh, yeah, now I see it here, in this pocket dictionary-- largo .”
And knowing calle from previous
experience, the Anglo developer jots on his pad
Calle Largo .  The phonemic distinction between unaccented
final a and o goes in one Anglo ear and out
the other.

            Finally, there are Santa Fe names that are simply
pretentious or inept.  The Rio Grande, the river
in whose valley the capital lies, has been called the
Great River in English, maybe partly because Spanish
Grande suggests English Grand , but in fact Rio
Grande means simply Big River .  Great River would
be Gran Rio .  (That tricky syntax again.)  Formally
correct but pretentious is the street name Camino
del Monte Sol , which before it was paved was sometimes
irreverently called Camino del Muddy Soil .
Then there is La Fonda, the rather famous Harvey
hotel that superseded the old Exchange Hotel when
the local Anglos woke up to the touristic value of
Spanish nomenclature and architecture.  A Mexican
newcomer to Santa Fe once told me that he had
been much puzzled by hearing rich Anglo tourists
extol the charm of La Fonda (in English pronounced
like fond plus schwa).  In Mexico, he explained, a
fonda is the cheapest, grubbiest sort of dive.
         
         
            
“Whereas sexologists have previously asked whether
the female gentilia resemble those of men, Eve's Secret
suggests that men's sexual organs may be derived from
those of women.”  [From a Paladin/Grafton book advertisement
in The Guardian , n.d., .  Submitted by ]
         
         
            To the Foot of the Letter, I'm Listening to a Turkish Sermon!



            
               Charles V held that Spanish should be spoken to
the gods, French to men, Italian to the ladies,
German to soldiers, English to geese, Hungarian
to horses and Bohemian to the Devil ...  We
take it for granted that our language is the most
natural mode of expression and we look upon
others with tolerant amusement if not hostility.

               Noah Jonathan Jacobs in Naming Day in Eden
            

            Man is so much shaped by the language he
speaks that he tends to get locked into that
particular language structure.  As Mr. Jacobs affirms,
what does not conform to the rules of one's native
tongue is not just different, it is wrong or at the very
least, odd.  When I took my first foreign language in
high school, I clearly remember being intolerantly
amused by the peculiar way Spanish speakers say
certain things, which I learned were called idiomatic
expressions.  They often seemed like idiotic expressions
to me.

            For example, why would anyone in his right
mind ask, “How do you call yourself?” instead of
the perfectly sensible, “What's your name?” and put
a question mark not only where it belonged at the
end but at the beginning of the sentence--and up-side-down--to
boot?  Why make a crazy statement
like “It makes beautiful,” for “It's nice weather”?
And so on.

            I was recently reminded of all this while boning
up on my Spanish before traveling with my husband
to Central America.  Y no tengo pelos en la lengua
(`And I don't have hair on my tongue: I'm telling you
what I think'), that is, llamo al pan pan, y al vino vino
(`I'm calling bread bread and wine wine: I'm calling
a spade a spade')--it's a muy fascinating language!

            In the years since my youthful folly, I have become
entranced with the splendid beauty of the
Spanish tongue.  And once again, as I have refreshed
my memory, I have savored the picturesque idiosyncratic
verbal constructions of the language.  Who
cannot become enmeshed in the rich rolling of r's in
a word like `railroad,' ferrocarril?  How could one
not be astounded by the funny logic of, say, meeting
one's match by encountering the shoestring of one's
shoe: encontrarse con la herma de su zapato?  Or
who could fail to be entertained while attempting
trabalenguas (`troubled tongues: tongue twisters')
like: Yo no compro coco.  Porque como poco coco,
poco coco compro .  (`I don't buy coconut.  Since I eat
little coconut, I buy little coconut.'), and Mi mama
me mima mucho .  (`My mother spoils me a lot.')?

            Noah Jonathan Jacobs speaks about “the universality
of linguistic chauvinism”:


We characterize unintelligible speech by saying,
“That's Greek to me,” the Russians and Rumanians
by “That's Chinese to me,” the French by
“That's Hebrew to me,” the Germans by “That's
Spanish to me,” and the Poles by “I'm listening
to a Turkish sermon.”

[Naming Day in Eden, Noah Jonathon Jacobs, p. 60]

            

            Casting aspersions on them, as opposed to us,
finds Spanish-speakers no exceptions to the rule.
Take, for instance, the various ways they characterize
the concept of “playing dumb”: In Bolivia it is
“to become an Italian”: hacerse el italiano ; in Colombia
the English get it with hacerse el inglés ; in
Mexico one becomes a gourd-- hacerse guaje --and
El Salvador's hacerse el papo equates playing the
fool with one who has a double chin; hacerse chino in
Equador means `to fool someone [by acting like a
Chinese].'

            On the Continent it is bad' cess to the British,
for in Spain if you are `surrounded by Englishmen'
you are being dunned to pay your bills.  “Working
for the English” means you earn a mere pittance.  Ir
a la alemana `to go German' is the equivalent of our
Dutch treat .  And dull wit is un chiste alemán `a German
joke.'

            If one `has a rat' or `catches a Turk' in Spain
( tener un ratón; coger una turca ) he gets drunk.  ( Una
turca is also `a liar.')  Getting drunk in Panama, on
the other hand, is estar en fuego `to be on fire.'

            The Basques take verbal beating too, for in
Spain una basqueria is `a Basque [a dirty trick].' Vasconcear
translates `to speak Basque, to jabber.' I suspect
basquear `to be nauseated' has the same source.
And if the cost is not clear, hay moros en la costa
`there are Moors on the coast.'

            Insult is not limited just to other nationalities,
either.  To a Spanish-speaker, a noisy party is una
boda de negros `a Negro wedding.'  Se armó la de
San Quintin indicates a terrible row has taken place.

            Adding diminutive suffixes is often a disparaging
tactic.  For instance, add- illo to a respected lawyer,
abogado , and you have an ignorant one, un abogadillo .
The small-town mentality is derided in the
use of aldeanismo , an aldea being a `small village.'

            And there is a whole array of American barrio
slang to tickle one's fancy.  For example, La chata is
an affectionate slang term meaning `funny face,'
`honey,' or `cutie,' but in Central America or Spain a
fellow would probably be punched out if he were to
call his girl a `bedpan' or `barge'!

            The animal world figures prominently in many
Spanish idioms.  If you want to be the life of the
party, it is necessary ser el pato de la boda `to be the
wedding duck.'  There is Que mosca te ha picado?
`What fly has bitten you?: What is eating you?' El
gusano de la conciencia is `the worm of the conscience,'
remorse.  `To play the red owl' ( tocar el
mochelo ) is to get the worst end of something.

            
               Aquí hay gato encerrado `There is a locked-up
cat here'=`I smell a rat,' meter gato por liebre `to
put a cat in the place of a hare'=`to be taken in,'
and buscar tres pies al gato `to look for three feet on
the cat'=`to look for trouble' are three feline
phrases.

            Spanish cursing and swearing is inventive--
echar sapos y culebras literally, means `to throw out
frogs and snakes.'  Such behaviour usually ends up
with having to pay the piper, that is, pagar los platos
rotos `to pay for the broken plates.'

            Lest we forget, the “class” way to play hooky is
hacer vaca , `to make a cow.'

            Picture una boca de agua `a water mouth'=`a
fire hydrant,' A person with a closed head (` cerrado
de cabeza ') is certainly narrow-minded.  The title
VERBATIM could well be translated as Al Pie de la
Letra `to the foot of the letter'=`word for word'!

            Avoid una media cuchara `a half spoon,' for he is
a mediocre person indeed.  `Give a pumpkin' dar
calabazas if you want to turn down an unsuitable
suitor.  Making decisions sometimes requires `sleeping
on it,' that is, `conferring with one's pillow,' consultar
con la almohada .  Speaking of sleeping, in
Spanish sleeping soundly is `to sleep like a loose leg'
dormir a pierna suelta .

            You will be, likely to jump for joy ( dar zapatetas
`to give shoe sole slaps') and go on a spree ( echar una
cana al aire `to toss gray hair into the air') if you can
go shopping `every other day' un día sí y un día no at
your `rich aunt's.' i.e. tía rica ([Am. Spanish] `rich
aunt'=`pawn shop').  That is, unless one canta alto
`sings high'=`asks too much.'

            Many phrases slip over the tongue like liquid
velvet.  There is a tontas y a locas `stupidly and crazily'=`helter-skelter'
and the similar a troche y
moche (or trochemoche) , meaning `in complete confusion.'
Or sin ton no son `without tone or
sound'=`without rhyme or reason.'  Un runrún is `a
rumor.'  A popular alcoholic beverage, chicha , figures
in the saying, Ne chicha ni limonada `neither
fish nor fowl.'  `Look high and low' andar de la Ceca
a la Meca and `in every nook and cranny' de cabo a
rabo =`from tip to tail.'  Show your `guts', which in
Spanish is el hígado =`the liver.'  To give una
dedada de miel `a pinch of honey,' or dar jabón (or
enjabonar) literally `to give soap' or `to wash with
soap' you can flatter someone or `soft-soap' him.

            If your word is no good, you `paint someone a
violin' pintarle un violín .  Empty, idle words are
`white words' las palabras blancas ; I could just be
`pulling your leg' tomar el pelo , literally, `to take the
hair.'

            I can remember being greatly embarrassed once
when I was trying to explain in Spanish about my
being embarrassed, and how shocked my high
school amigos were when I announced, they
thought, that I was pregnant ( embarazada ).  Incidentally,
the last time we were in Guatemala we often
heard the beautiful expression for `being pregnant,'
tener gracia `to have grace' or `to be blessed.'

            My uncle recalled a time when in a Mexican restaurant
he and his family had waited an overly long
time for their order.  He was astonished when his cry
for service, “Servesa!” brought beer instead.
Servesa certainly seemed a reasonable Spanish way
of saying, “I want service!” but “ Cervesa !” will
bring a brew every time.

            Friends die laughing--that is, they laugh a
mandíbula batiente `with their lower jaw beating'--
when we tell them of' the pleasures of living a short
distance out of town.  The Spanish speaker would
say we live en los quintos infiernos `in the fifth hell.'
And Cuban friends would say we live donde el diablo
dió los tres gritos `where the devil gave three hoots'
or simply, `You live in the sticks' “ Vive en las
quimbambas !”

            Well, `inside of a little' dentro de poco , actually,
`of a slap' de sopentón , I mean, `in less than what
sings a rooster' en menos de lo que un gallo , here it is
time to stop.  It would be such fun to discuss other
things, but eso es harina de otro costal `That is flour
from another sack!'
         
         
            A Wisconsin Supreme Court Dictionary



            
               To fit in with the change of events, words, too,
had to change their usual meanings.

               Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War
               
            

            When the Wisconsin Supreme Court writes an
opinion in which it does not interpret a statute,
words have their usual meanings.  However,
when the court does interpret a statute, that change
of events causes words to change their meanings.
Therefore, writing a complete Wisconsin Supreme
Court dictionary would be a useful, but daunting,
project.  The following entries are only part of such
a dictionary, based on the court's statutory interpretation
cases during the five-year period beginning in
1985.

            
               after After or before (Sheely v. DHSS, 150 Wis. 2d
(1989)).

            
               any mortgage Any mortgage except one for future advances
(Colonial Bank v. Marine Bank, N.A., 152
Wis. 2d 444 (1989)).

            
               any other The same but under extraordinary circumstances
(State ex rel. M.L.B. v. D.G.H., 122 Wis.
2d 536 (1985)).

            
               any party Any party that has not presented its views
(Carkel, Inc. v. Lincoln Cir. Ct., 141 Wis. 2d 257
(1987)).

            
               are May be (Burlington Northern v. Superior, 131 Wis.
2d 564 (1986)).

            
               comply Agree to (Ziegler Co., Inc. v. Rexnord, 147 Wis.
2d 308 (1988)).

            
               continuing financial interest Continuing financial interest
and interdependence (Ziegler Co., Inc. v.
Rexnord, Inc. 139 Wis. 2d 593 (1987)).

            
               custody Building (State v. Sugden, 143 Wis. 2d 728
(1988)).

            
               dam Dam except a cranberry dam (Tenpas v. DNR, 148
Wis. 2d 579 (1989)).

            
               defendant Possible defendant (Richards v. Young, 150
Wis. 2d 549 (1989)).

            
               destitute Having someone who has a duty to support one
and who could provide for one's needs (State v. Cissell,
127 Wis. 2d 205 (1985)).

            
               entered Said to be entered (Matter of Estate of Ristow,
144 Wis. 2d 421 (1988)).

            
               equally In some fashion (In re Marriage of: Lutzke v.
Lutzke, 122 Wis. 2d 24 (1985)).

            
               establish Establish or modify (State ex rel. Jeske v. Jeske,
144 Wis. 2d 364 (1988)).

            
               every witness Every adult witness (State v. Hanson, 149
Wis. 2d 474 (1989)).

            
               evident Possible (Spooner Dist. v. N.W. Educators, 136
Wis. 2d 263 (1987)).

            
               exclusive One of several (Henning v. General Motors Assembly,
143 Wis. 2d 1 (1988)).

            
               express Implied (Local Union No. 487 v. Eau Claire, 147
Wis. 2d 519 (1989)).

            
               extraneous Extraneous or personal (State V. Stewart, 143
Wis. 2d 28 (1988)).

            
               injury Notice of future harm (Les Moise, Inc. v. Rossignol
Ski Co., Inc., 122 Wis. 2d 51 (1985)).

            
               judgement Judgement except a divorse judgement (Parrish
v. Kenosha County Circuit Ct., 148 Wis. 2d 700
(1989)).

            
               may Shall in the case of disinterested attorneys (In Matter
of Estate of Trotalli, 123 Wis. 2d 340 (1985)).

            
               no suit No suit except a contract suit (Energy Complexes
v. Eau Claire County, 152 Wis. 2d 453 (1989)).

            
               obligations undertaken Obligations undertaken separately
from rent (Univest Corp. v. General Split
Corp., 148 Wis. 2d 29 (1989)).

            
               offer Seperate offer (DeMars v. LaOur, 123 Wis. 2d 366
(1985)).

            
               order Order except a bail forfeiture order (State v. Wickstrom,
134 Wis. 2d 158 (1986)).

            
               paid by Traceable to (Kremer Bros. v. Pulaski State Bank,
138 Wis. 2d 395 (1987)).

            
               parents, grandparents and great-grandparents Parents,
grandparents, greatgrandparents and aunts (In re
Custody of D.M.M., 137 Wis. 2d 375 (1987)).

            
               person Person or car (State v. Moretto, 144 Wis. 2d 171
(1988)).

            
               presence Control (State v. Fry, 131 Wis. 2d 153 (1986)).

            
               preserving order Punishing disorder (Contempt in State
v. Dewerth, 139 Wis. 2d 544 (1987)).

            
               property Property except personal injury claims (Marriage
of Richardson v. Richardson, 139 Wis. 2d 778
(1987)).

            
               property Personal property (Pulsfus Farms v. Town of
Leeds, 149 Wis. 2d 797 (1989)).

            
               prosecuted Holds office (K.L. v. Hinickle, 144 Wis. 2d
102 (1988)).

            
               repealed Amended (In re Paternity of D.L.T., 137 Wis.
2d 57 (1987)).

            
               shall Shall unless there is a good reason not to (Employees
Local 1901 v. Brown County, 146 Wis. 2d 728
(1988)).

            
               spouse Spouse except a murderer (Steinbarth v.
Johannes, 144 Wis. 2d 159 (1988)).

            
               substantial Substantial and protected by law (Waste Management
of Wisconsin v. DNR, 144 Wis. 2d 499
(1988)).

            
               to From (State v. Worgull, 128 Wis. 2d 1 (1986)).

            
               wire Wire except the wire part of a cordless telephone
transmission (State v. Smith, 149 Wis. 2d 89
(1989)).

            
               with particularity Not at all (State v. Gomaz, 141 Wis.
2d 302 (1987)).

            Appellate judges differ significantly from other
groups that generate material for their own specialized
dictionaries.  One difference is that other
groups need to do so because in order to function
they must either attach new meanings to existing
words and phrases or coin new words and pharases.
Most groups go too far, partly because the obscurity
of their jargon sets them apart from others, thereby
increasing their prestige.  For example, although
computer specialists properly coined byte to represent
a new concept, they could have used the everyday
expression turn off instead of inventing a new
meaning for take down .  In contrast, in virtually all
the cases I read the judge who wrote the opinion did
not have to invent a new meaning for a word or
phrase; the relevant statute yielded a clear meaning
that would have resolved the case.  The judge who
wrote the opinion, however, did not necessarily like
that resolution.

            Judicial jargoan also differs from other jargoan in
that the creators of the latter do so openly.  They do
not pretend that they are merely reading ordinary
language as anyone else would read it.  After they
produce enough new meanings or newly defined
terms they are likely to publish a dictionary.  They
expect the definitions in it to supplement, not to
supplant secretly, the definitions that are in common
use.  Judges, however, claim merely to be interpreting
words and phrases in statutes either in the same
way that anyone else would or in a way that effectuates
the legislature's intent.  They never acknowledge
that they are in effect writing their own dictionary
in order to arrive at the results they favor.
Therefore, they implicitly replace existing definitions,
and, because in the future judges will accept
as precedents the cases in which they do so, they
truly do change the meanings of words and phrases.

            The most important difference between nonjudicial
and judicial dictionary making is the magnitude
of the adverse consequences.  People who are
not judges can do little harm beyond mildly degrading
the language and annoying linguistic purists.  In
contrast, the statutory interpretation practices of
judges threaten rights and property.  In fact, they
even threaten freedom; in a significant number of the
cases I read the invention of meaning resulted in a
criminal conviction.  Also, because those practices
make it nearly impossible to predict the outcome of a
case, persons litigate even though the plain meaning
of the relevant statute is not in their favor, and their
attorneys run up huge bills looking for ways to induce
judges to ignore the plain meaning of statutes.  Those
interpretive practices thus have enormous social and
financial costs.  They also have institutional costs because,
to the extent that they subvert clear meaning
that the legislature created, they usurp legislative authority
and diminish the separation of powers, one of
the bedrocks of our system of government.

            Despite these practices, judges are not evil persons.
They are operating as judges have operated for
a long time.  They also reflect their legal education.
If law schools recognized the importance of statutory
law and advocated interpreting statutes only so as to
reveal their plain meanings, they would have even
less material to teach.  Judges--who, in one sense,
are merely lawyers in robes--when they are on the
bench also continue the lawyerly practice of begining
with a desired result and then working backwards
to arguments that perhaps support it.  Nevertheless,
clandestine judicial dictionary making, in
addition to its serious social and political consequences,
has deleterious linguistic consequences.
The first step in preventing those consequences is to
realize that in courts words are losing their meanings.
         
         
            
“(The cyclist) hopes to survive the 2,020-mile race
through the French countryside and mountains to ride
down Paris' eloquent avenue, Champs Elysées.” [From
the Los Angeles Times , .  Submitted by ]
         
         
            
“... You have to see West Side Story in performance,
preferably on stage, to fully appreciate the enormity
of Bernstein's achievement.”  [From “Saturday's
Television and Radio,” Peter Davalle, The Times , :24]
         
         
            
“Wandering around the transformed city of Bergen,
Norway in search of old haunts, I felt like Gulliver waking
from a long sleep.”  [From “Going Home to/Retour á
Bergen,” by Helga Loverseed, in Empress (C.P. Airlines
magazine), :52.  Submitted by ]

         
         
            A Menagerie of Words



            Metaphor, the literary process that makes a direct
comparison of one thing to another, has
a dual personality in word formation.  Its facilitating
role is to create a new word from an existing one
owing to some similarity in their referents.  Thus, kite
was aptly made from Old English cáta `hawk,' since a
kit hovers in the air in the manner of a hawk.

            With the passing of time, however, metaphor
also has a debilitating effect.  Only an etymologist
today would be expected to know of the kite/hawk
kinship , and only he is able to see a kite in a spring
sky and appreciate it as the hawk it once was.

            Since animals are so common, they are often
used in metaphorically formed words.  Some animals
are named from a comparison to another animal.
Aardvark was borrowed from Afrikaans aard `earth'
plus vark `pig,' the similarity being the snouts.  Alligator
is from Spanish el lagarto `the lizard,' since the
general configuration of both reptiles is horizontal.
Chameleon originated as Greek chamaí ` on the
ground' plus léoacute;n ,' `lion,' from the shape of the animal's
manelike head.  Hippopotamus , from Greek, is
a `horse that swims in a river.'  Porcupine , from
Latin, is a `pig with thorns.'

            The metaphor in canary is senseless, though,
because the word is actually a misnomer.  The
French canarie designated the principal isle of the
groups of islands.  The word had come through Spanish
Canaria , originating as Latin Canāria Insula `Isle
of the Dogs.'  Early explorers on the islands found
great numbers of large dogs there and named the
archipelago after them, from the Latin canis `dog.'
Later, there came to be a demand for the birds as
pets.  They were called canaries, and the dogs were
soon forgotten.

            Original animal metaphors are all but obliterated
in words that have no reference to animals.  An
asinine , human action is the one only an ass should
commit, since ass `animal known for its stupidity' is
based on Latin asinus `ass.'  To play a bugle is to
blow on the horn of a wild ox, through Old French
bugle , from Latin bōs `ox.'  Butter hides the Greek
boûs `ox' plus t\?\rós `cheese.'  A canard is a false story
fabricated to deceive.  The lost metaphor in canard
is a duck, from a French expression vendre un canard
á moitié `to half-sell a duck.'  To half-sell anything is
not to sell it at all, but to make it seem as if it had
been sold, that is, `to deceive.'

            From Greek kónōps `mosquito' the Romans
formed conopium `couch with a net' (to keep mosquitoes
away).  The canopy used as an elegant covering
over a modern bed, then, is a metaphoric net to
keep the lowly mosquito at a distance.  The ultimate
origin of the word is an Egyptian town Canopus , evidently
well known for the notorious insect.  Caper is
from Italian capriolo `male roe deer.'  One who capers
around is likened to leaping like a deer.  A cavalier
is tied to his steed through Latin caballus
`horse.'  Chenille was so called from its comparison
to a hairy caterpillar, from the fabric's hairy texture.
The ultimate origin of the word is Latin canis `dog.'
The forgotten animal in columbine is a dove, from
Latin columba .  The flower of the plant resembles a
cluster of five doves.  The original cynics were Greek
philosophers who made fun of wealth.  Their name
came from kýōn , a Greek word meaning `dog.'  Most
cynics actually lived barely better than dogs.

            The animal completing the metaphor in dandelion
is a lion.  It was the French who established the
comparison in dent de lion `tooth of a lion,' from the
tooth-shaped leaves of the plant.  Easel was borrowed
from Dutch ezel `ass.'  The artist's easel supports
his canvas in the manner an ass carries a traveler's
belongings on his back.  Gossamer is a collection
of weblike material seen floating through the
air in autumn.  Gossamer was formed from early
English gōs `goose' plus summer `summer.'  The reference
is either to the similiarity of drifting goose
feathers or to the time of year when geese begin to
migrate.  Latin mūs `mouse' is the origin of muscle
The association is due to some muscles' shapes being
similar to that of a mouse.  Also, the movement of a
flexed muscle was thought to resemble the creeping
of a mouse.

            The animal in hiding in pavilion is a butterfly,
from Latin papilionem `butterfly.'  Early pavilions
were tents, which were shaped like the spread wings
of the butterfly.  Today's doctors' pavilion is far removed
from a tent.  Pedigree completes its metaphor
with the Old French pied de grue `crane's foot,' the
three-branched print of the foot of a crane being
similar to the lines showing ancestry on a genealogical
chart.  Porcelain was borrowed from Italian
porcelaine `cowrie shell,' from a similarity of the surfaces
of each.  The origin of the word, however, is
Latin porcus `pig,' since the curve of the shell resembles
the curve of a pig's body.

            
               Ukulele , from Hawaiian, is a metaphor from `uku
`flea' plus lele `to jump.'  Since ukuleles often provide
music for dancing, the association might be
from the dancers' flea-like movements, or there
could be a connection with Edward Purvis, a British
military officer who popularized the instrument in
Hawaii.

            Metaphor, as can be seen in this menagerie of
words, is ironic in that it is a great help in the creation
of a word, but in a certain sense, it is also an
accomplice in its death.
         
         


            Dear Sir:

            Having lived in Italy for some time, I believe I
may be able to answer Barbara Bassett's letter regarding
the color of Italian eggs [XVIII, 1].  She wondered
why an art expert in the Sistine Chapel said
that Michelangelo had used the red ( rosso ) of an egg
in his preparation for the frescoes.  Italians use almost
exclusively brown-shelled eggs.  These eggs
are harder shelled and the yolk is really quite red or
reddish-orange.  American eggs look quite anemic
next to Italian eggs.  Another word for yolk is tuorlo ,
but rosso is more accurate if you want to describe
the color.

            Speaking of eggs, why do we English speakers
talk of the egg white when it is really clear until it is
cooked or beaten?  In Italian the albumen is albume
or chiaro (`clear').





         
         
            
“Rachel Perry cosmetics offer a natural alternative to
skin care.”  [Subheadline of article in The Tab , Newton,
Massachusetts, which prints in its masthead, “The number
beside each person's name is their extension.”  Submitted
by ]

         
         
            Wine Vocabulary and Wine Description



            Drinking wine can be a lot of fun, and talking
about the taste and aroma of the wine while
drinking it can make it even more fun.  My scientific
interest in wine description grew out of watching
people, mostly men, hold a glass of wine up to a
candle, swish it around, sniff it, taste it, and utter
some wonderfully poetic-sounding remark, such as,
“The burnt fruity nose a bit overpowers the buttery
lushness of the finish.”  I was certainly impressed by
the language, and I wondered first, what these
words meant, and second, if I, too, could learn to
talk that way.

            The first part of my study involved collecting
and analyzing those descriptions used by wine writers
and enologists to characterize wines.  Although the
vocabulary can be indefinitely expanded, I collected
about 200 words that I found to be commonly used.
(A list of the commonest appears at the end.)

            Some of these terms are straightforwardly descriptive,
such as sweet, dry , or woody ; but much of
the vocabulary combined both a descriptive and an
evaluative element.  If we consider body , for example,
which corresponds to the amount of alcohol and
dissolved solids in the wine, we find neutral words
like light and heavy , but more evaluatively loaded
words, like thin or coarse , meaning `too light' or `too
heavy' respectively.  Some of the wine descriptors
are purely--or at least mostly--evaluative, such as
great, noble , and elegant , or hollow and bland .

            Especially interesting are the descriptors that
are taken over from very different semantic domains,
such as words that describe personality and
character: aggressive, charming, diffident, honest,
feminine, masculine .  How can these descriptions be
meaningful?  In order to understand how a wine can
taste feminine or aggressive , we rely on intralinguistic
associations.  Since feminine is semantically related
to words like sweet, perfumed, light , and delicate ,
which can be related to the smell, taste, and
“feel” of wines in the mouth, we can understand
how a wine might be described as feminine .

            The next phase of my study was designed to determine
how descriptive language is applied to
wines.  Three groups of wine drinkers served as subjects
for a variety of experiments.

            The first group consisted of nonexperts from different
parts of the United States who had never
drunk or discussed wine with each other.  At each of
the five sessions, subjects were given three perceptibly
different red wines or three different white
wines, typically from different countries and from
different varietals (wines made primarily from a single
grape variety), and subjects were asked to describe
each of the wines.  Though subjects sometimes
protested that they did not know any wine
terms, once they got going they often wrote lengthy
descriptions.  As a related task I gave them a list of
145 wine descriptors, collected from the first phase
of my study, and asked them to circle all the words
they considered appropriate for each wine.  Results
showed not only that the descriptions were different,
but that they were inconsistent.  One particular
wine was described as “sweet, a bubbly, flowery,
light fizzy feeling in the mouth” by one subject,
“quite dry, quite tangy” by another, and “harsh
odor, pungent, unpleasant, bitter, sharp” by a third.

            Two observations on the vocabulary may explain
part of the problem.  First, because people prefer
some wines to others and because many of the words
are value-laden, subjects who like a wine used terms
to describe it that differed from the words of those
who did not like it: a subject who liked a light wine
would not select a negative term like thin .  Second,
most of the terms involve a reference to some implicit
scale: wines may be termed light or heavy ,
sweet or dry with respect to all other wines, to wines
of that class (red or white), or to wines of that varietal.
Each subject was making an implicit comparison,
but the reference was never made explicit.  Furthermore,
people who are used to relatively heavy
wines, Chianti, for example, might find Beaujolais
light, whereas people used to light wines, such as
Austrian reds, might judge that same Beaujolais to
be heavy.

            Another set of experiments used a matching
paradigm.  A pair of subjects was given the same
three perceptibly different wines.  One subject had
to describe and differentiate them so that his partner
could identify them on the basis of the descriptions.
Overall, the success level for correct matches was no
better than chance.

            Subjects in the second group, also nonexperts,
met every two weeks over a period of eight months
to taste and talk about wine.  Tasks similar to those
previously described were performed, but the goal
with this group was to see whether they would develop
a consensual vocabulary and come to understand
what the others meant by the words they used.
Records on consensus were taken at the beginning
and end of the eight-month study.  Subjects did not
do much better on the matching task at the end than
at the beginning, showing that no group consensus
emerged; yet they reported that they felt subjectively
that they communicated better.  They learned
which of the others shared their own preferences
and whose judgement they could trust.  Moreover,
the words they used changed with experience: when
it became clear that earthy was used in very different
ways by different people, its use dropped significantly.

            The third group consisted of wine scientists--
graduate students and winery staff at the University
of California at Davis Department of Viticulture and
Enology.  Among this group there was greater
agreement in wine descriptors--but only with California
wines, that is, those wines with which the subjects
had the most experience.  On the wines from
Portugal, Australia, or France, their agreement was
no better than that of the nonexperts.  This shows
that training and experience contribute to consensual
use of language but do not automatically generalize
to the descriptions of unfamiliar wines.  The
reason is that experts first identify the wine and then
judge it according to the relevant norms for that
type: if the wine is unfamiliar, they lack the relevant
standards for judging.

            If the use of language by most people who describe
wine is so subjective and idiosyncratic, should
they drink silently?  Not necessarily.  Much of the
time people describe wines as they are drinking
them, and there is no need to pick out a particular
wine.  Talking about a wine, I believe, enhances the
experience by allowing one wine drinker to point
out characteristics that another might miss.  Suppose
that one person says something like, “Can you taste
that chalkiness on the back of the tongue?”  This
directs the other tasters to notice something they
might not have observed.  It would not necessarily
matter if wine experts or wine scientists would deny
that the wine had any chalkiness and that what was
noticed was something completely different.  Much
of our conversation, especially in informal settings,
is not so much to provide information about the external
world as to form social bonds.  Communicating
about a personal experience, for example, how a
wine tastes, is such an activity.  And if a wine-tasting
experience can be enhanced as a results of a description,
it does not matter whether or not that description
is either conventional or accurate.  When it is
necessary to be precise and construct a publicly
shared language with clear referents, people can do
so.  Wine scientists, for example, are seriously concerned
with such goals and have addressed the problem,
even if they have not yet completely solved it.

            In between are the wine writers who want to
communicate about their experiences and preferences
and make good recommendations.  I suggest
that readers try a few recommended wines to see if
their tastes and word use are in accord with those of
a particular writer.  If so, they can continue to trust
those judgments; if not, they should follow another's
recommendations.

            For those who would like a list of the wine descriptors,
following are the more common terms
used with subjects in the experiments.


acidic        balanced     clean
aged          big          cloying
alcoholic     bitter       common
aromatic      bland        complex
astringent    bouquet      corky
austere       chalky       creamy
baked         character    crisp
deep          lively       sensuous
delicate      maderized    sharp
developed     manly        simple
disciplined   mature       small
dry           meager       smoky
earthy        mealy        smooth
elegant       medium       soft
empty         mellow       solid
evolved       metallic     sound
fat           mineral      sour
feminine      moldy        spicy
fierce        mossy        steely
fiery         musky        stiff
fine          noble        stony
finesse       nutty        strong
firm          oaky         sturdy
flabby        odd          stylish
flat          off          succulent
flowery       old          sugary
forceful      ordinary     supple
foxy          overripe     sweet
fragile       peppery      syrupy
fragrant      perfumed     tangy
fresh         positive     tannic
fruity        powerful     tart
full-bodied   prickly      tender
gassy         pungent      thin
gay           racy         unbalanced
gentle        rare         unharmonious
graceful      refreshing   unripe
grapy         rich         velvety
hard          ripe         vigorous
harmonious    robust       watery
harsh         rough        weak
hearty        round        wild
heavy         rugged       withered
honest        salty        woody
hot           sappy        young
insipid       savory       zestful
light         scented
little        semisweet

            
         
         
            Colonial American English—Supplement




            [As many VERBATIM readers have had the pleasure of
discovering, Colonial American English , by Richard
M. Lederer, Jr. (VERBATIM, 1985), contains a fascinating
collection of words and phrases characteristic
of the English used in the Colonies (and later) during
the period from 1608 till 1783.  Mr. Lederer's
unflagging interest in early American culture, his voracious
reading of the books, papers, and documents
of the time, and his penchant for collecting Americanisms
and turning some useful, entertaining, and
interesting comments about them have continued
unabated.  The following consists of two lists, the
first a supplementary glossary to that published in
Colonial American English; the second a list of words
and phrases he has uncovered but which, owing to
lack of context or paraphrase, he has been unable to
define.  Help and comments are welcome.  All correspondence
will be passed on to Mr. Lederer; as befits
the material received, we may hijack some for
our EPISTOLAE columns.

            
               Colonial American English is available through
bookstores at $24.95 or directly from VERBATIM at
$24.95 (postpaid) or, for subscribers, at $20.00
(postpaid). --Editor.]

            
               alamode ( v .) Beef larded and stewed or braised with
spices and vegetables.  Amelia Simmons' American
Cookery in 1796 had a recipe “To alamode a round
of Beef.”

            
               Anoquodor ( adj .) Abbreviation for anno quo domini.
Town records for Mamaroneck, N.Y., report that
something was “All done April ye 2nd 1698
Anoquodor.”

            
               attainder ( n .) The legal consequence of judgment of
death or outlawry pronounced in respect to treason
or felony.  Thomas Jones' History of New York during
The Revolutionary War states that “The Act of
Attainder... was passed on the 22nd of October
1779.”

            
               bantling ( n .) An infant, from bandling, a child in swaddling
clothes.  Jones asserted that “The peace was
the bantling of Lord Rockingham...”

            
               barrack ( n .) Four poles with a movable roof to protect
hay.  The Commissioners laid out the Albany Post
Road “across Robert Williams clear Land on the
West Side where his Barrak now stands.”

            
               bilge ( n .) A variant of bulge .  Simmon's American Cookery
tells us, “Eggs put them into water, if they lye on
their bilge, they are good and fresh.”

            
               bomb ( n .) A small warship equipped with mortars for
throwing bombs.  Jones described: “[T]he fleet arrived.
It consisted of two 50 gun ships, 4 frigates of
28 guns, one of 20, an armed vessel of 22, a sloop of
war, an armed schooner and a bomb.”

            
               burletta ( n .) An Italian diminutive of burla , a `mockery,'
a `musical farce.'  Jones wrote “The particulars of
this burletta are contained in the following letter
from an officer on the spot, to his friend in England
dated at Philadelphia, the 20th of May 1778.”

            
               buttermilk ( n .) Butterfly milkweed or pleurisy root, a diaphoretic
or expectorant.  Charles Wolley in A Two
Year Journal of New York 1678-1680 recorded that
“Both Indians and Dutch... very often picked buttermilk.”

            
               caress ( v .) To treat with fondness, affection or kindness.
Jones, referring to Sir William Johnson, commented,
“He was loved, caressed, and almost adored by the
Indians.”

            
               cattle ( n .) All livestock including horses, not limited to
cows.  A 1797 New York State law provided “That
all freeholders... shall be assessed to work on the
public roads... with such implements, carriages,
cattle and sleds.”

            
               cibola ( n .) From Zuñi, `buffalo.'  E.B. O'Callaghan records
a license to Sieur de la Salle: “We have
granted, as a privilege, the trade in cibola skins.”

            
               Crown Soap Soap stamped with a crown as a sign of
quality.  In a 1757 letter Benjamin Franklin wrote,
“I am glad Peter is acquainted with the Crown Soap
business.”

            
               dogger ( n .) A Dutch fishing vessel used in the cod and
herring fisheries.

            
               d. vi m. The sixth, vi, month, m., (August) of the Julian
calendar.  Cotton Mather's diary for August 1721
has an entry that starts, “d. vi m. Friday.”

            
               elisor ( n .) A sheriff's substitute in performing the duty of
returning a jury, used when the sheriff is interested
in the suit.  In 1764 The Supreme Court of Judicature
in New York City recorded that “Jacobus
Bleeker, Esq. of New Rochelle and Jonathan Brown,
Gent. of Rye were appointed elisors to return a
jury.”

            
               emptins ( n .) Collloquial shortening of emptyings , a preparation
of yeast from the lees of beer, cider, etc., for
leavening.  Simmons American Cookery tells us to
use “a quart of emptins” when making plain cake.

            
               enlarge ( v .) To set at large, to set free.  Jones reported
that “Gouveneur and Seton were enlarged [from the
Tower of London] without either bail or mainprize.”

            
               fanfaron ( n .) A bully, a swaggerer, an empty boaster.
From Italian fanfarone a `boaster.'  Jones quotes Walpole
as saying, “The French have tied up the hands
of an excellent fanfaron, a Major Washington, whom
they took and engaged to serve for a year.”

            
               flock bed A bed stuffed with locks of wool or hair.  A
1648 inventory of the estate of William Southmead
of Gloucester, Mass. included “one flock bedd and
pillers.”

            
               Fuyck ( n .) A fish trap, a fyke.  O'Callaghan records this
as the first name for Albany, N.Y.

            
               garble ( v .) To sort out parts of for a purpose, especially a
sinister purpose.  A March 1700 document states,
“After the dissolution of this Assembly His Lordship
[Bellomont]... garbled the Council.”

            
               gurnet ( n .) The sandbar protecting Plymouth, Mass., harbor,
named for its resemblance to a fish, the gurnet.
In 1776 The Massachusetts House of Representatives
appropriated money for “repair to the gurnet
at the entrance to Plymouth harbor.”  In 1630 John
Winthrop was “in a shallop to Plymouth... and
about the Gurnet's nose the wind blew.”

            
               halbert ( n .) A variant of halberd , the military weapon.
Jones reported, “and sentenced to receive 300
lashes at the halberts, from the drummers of the
army.”  The culprit was apparently tied to the poles.

            
               Hannah Hill Sea bass.  A recipe in American Cookery
reads, “Every species generally of salt water Fish,
are best fresh from the water, tho' the Hannah Hill,
Black Fish...”

            
               hobby horse A hobby, a chosen occupation, alluding to
the riding of a toy horse.  Jones referring to Isaac
Sears, said, “His tune is for mobbing; committees
and popular meetings are his delight, his greatest
pleasure, his hobby-horse.”

            
               Independent ( n .) A member of an independent church; a
Congregationalist.  Jones stated, “These letters were
said to have come from Quaker congregations, and
were written in their style; from Presbyterian Meetings,
from Congregationalists, from Anabaptists,
Moravians, Seceders, Independents and Separatists.”

            
               Italian method of bookkeeping Double-entry bookkeeping,
originated in 1494 by Luca Pacioli in Italy.  An
advertisement in Rivington's New York Gazette on
October 6, 1774, “wanted a young man acquainted
with keeping books in the Italian method,” and another
was from one who, “wants a place... understands
Italian bookkeeping.”  Perhaps they got
together.

            
               leveler ( n .) One who tries to bring men to a common
level or who disregards differences of rank or station.
In 1745 Governor Clinton wrote to the Board
of Trade, “That as they [the New York Assembly] are
jealous of the power of the Crown, and are Levellers
by principle, nothing but an independent Govr.
could bring them to a joint sence of their duty.”

            
               Lex Talionis The law of retaliation, providing that the
punishment should be in the same kind as the crime:
an eye for an eye.  Jones wrote, “The Lex Talionis,
in all civil wars is, perhaps, though cruel, yet legal,
and upon many occasion, perfectly justifiable.”

            
               mango ( n .) A small, green, pickled musk melon.  Simmons'
American Cookery included a recipe “to
pickle or make Mangoes of Melons.”

            
               mischianza ( n .) A medley, a performance with many different
parts.  From the Italian, a `mixture.'  Charles
Stedman's History of the American War described,
“It is to the famous Mischianza that we allude, or
festival given in honor of sir William Howe, by some
of the British officers at Philadelphia, when he was
about to give up his command to return to
England.”

            
               peperage ( n .) A variant of pepperidge , the black or sour
gum tree.  In 1774 the road commissioners for
North Castle, N.Y. “then laid out a Two Rod wide
road... beginning at a Certain Peperage Sapling.”

            
               petticoat ( n .) Used symbolically to represent the female
sex.  In 1756 Sir William Johnson wrote to the Lords
of Trade, “I concluded this treaty by taking off the
Petticoat, or that invidious name of Women, from
the Delaware Nation which hath been imposed upon
them by the Six Nations from the time they conquored
them.”

            
               polenia linen White or brown narrow cloth from High
Dutchland.  A 1700 bill for a shipment from New
York to Holland read, “2G. polenia linnen at
15 p b.”

            
               prebend ( n .) A daily stipend or allowance.  Albert
Joachimi wrote to the States General in 1638,
“... a Divine, who hath a good probend, and visits
the houses of the aristocracy, had intruded into the
chamber at Westminister where the Judges
sat...”

            
               Prince's metal A copper-brass or copper-arsenic alloy resembling
brass.  O'Callaghan reported that “Prince
Rupert [d. 1682] ...invented the Mezzo-tinto style
of engraving and the composition called the Prince's
metal.”

            
               pupton ( n .) A variant of pulpatoon , a rabbit or fowl stew
like a pot pie.  From Spanish pulpeton , a slice of
stuffed meat.  Martha Bradley's cookbook gives a
recipe.

            
               radicate ( v .) To take root, to plant firmly.  Francis Lovelace
in 1673 wrote to Governor Winthrop, “It will
be necessary to forme a militia, for if it should miscarry
they must not radicate longer.”

            
               Scars of Venus A rash produced by secondary syphilis.
In Thomas D'Urfey's song “Great Lord Frog to Lady
Mouse” appears, “Then altho my Bum be bare,/All
must own 'tis smooth and fair;/I've no Scars of Venus
there.”

            
               schism shop A place of worship other than a Church of
England church.  The Schism Act, passed in 1714
and repealed in 1719, required all teachers to conform
to the Anglican church.  Jones wrote that
Charles Lee was “so much vexed with rebellion,
with Republicans and Presbyterians, that by his will
he ordered his body not to be buried within three
miles of a Presbyterian meeting house, conventicle,
or a schism shop.”

            
               scrub ( n .) A small, mean person.  Philip Ranlet recorded
that in 1770 “A Philadelphian declared that `the
New Yorkers have acted like scrubs, and deserve to
be tarred and feathered.' ”

            
               Seceder ( n .) Around 1758 a member of the Secession
church.  See quotation at Independent.
            

            
               Separatist ( n .) One separated from the Church of England.
See quotation at Independent.
            

            
               shambles ( n .) A butcher's stall and table where meat is
displayed.  Jones described “... and yet his shambles
were every day as well, if not better, supplied
than any other butcher in the neighbourhood.”

            
               ship money A port tax levied in England to pay for national
defense.  In 1638 Mr. Joachim wrote the
States General, “that a certain judge had distinctly
advised that, under present circumstances, the ship
money may not be levied off the inhabitants of England,
without consent of Parliament.”

            
               slipe ( n .) A slice.  In 1773 the road commissioners for the
Town of Harrison, N.Y., laid out a road, “along said
Merrits land to a Black Oak Stadel marked with a
Slipe and three hacks with an axe.”

            
               slop shop A shop where slops were sold.  See C.A.E.
Jones wrote that, “by these means and a share of his
prizes, having acquired a small estate, he [Alexander
McDougal] quitted the sea and settled in New York,
where he kept what is known among sailors by the
name of a `slop-shop.' ”

            
               sojourner ( n .) A temporary resident.  In 1695 the Colony
of New York taxed “Sojourners by the head 24 sh.”

            
               snout ( v .) To cut the nostrils of a pig to weaken the
snout.  In 1788 the Scarsdale Town Board passed a
law providing, “that if any Hogs trespass not being
Ringed or Snouted and yoked that it shall be lawful
to drive them to Pound.”

            
               stage ( n .) The distance on a highway between two stopping
places.  The New York Gazette in 1731 advertised,
“The Boston & Philadelphia Posts will set out
to perform their Stages once a fortnight.”

            
               stive ( v .) To crowd together, to stuff, cram.  From Latin
stipare `to crowd together.'  In American Cookery we
are told, “and then pour it upon your cucumbers
and stive them down for twenty four hours.”

            
               tapper ( n .) One who taps or draws liquor; specifically an
innkeeper.  In 1773 the New York Executive Council
treated with “The Matter of Difference between
ye two Tappers at Schanechtide.”

            
               till ( prep .) The forerunner of until .  From Saxon tille to
reach or come to the time of.  The 1728 New York
Governor's Council recorded that, “the Yearly Quitrent...
has been paid till the 25th of March.”

            
               toft ( n .) A cleared space.  In 1728 the New York Governor's
Council recorded that, “Coll Dongan did demise...
a toft of ground.”

            
               wind fan A fan for winnowing grain.  In the 1800 inventory
of James Varian's estate in Scarsdale, N.Y., his
“Wind Fan” was valued at 7 pounds.

            
               Definitions Unknown
            

            
               Albany board - On August 16, 1780, Gen. Benedict Arnold,
commanding West Point, wrote to Timothy
Pickering, Quartermaster General, regarding materials
then needed at the fort.  “Ten thousand Albany
Board, to least, will be wanted.”

            
               ales master - In 1757 John Wollman, regarding slavery,
wrote, “I ought not to be the scribe where wills are
drawn in which some children are made ales masters
over others during life.”

            
               bed's head - In 1711 William Byrd was a delegate to the
House of Burgesses of Virginia.  One evening he visited
“the Governor 'til he went to bed about 11
o'clock, then we went to Maj. Harrisons to supper
again, but the Governor ordered the sentry to keep
us out and in revenge about 2 o'clock in the morning
we danced a g-n-t-r dance just at the bed's
head.”

            
               breeth - Charles Wolley in A Two Year's Journal in New
York wrote, “Were I to draw their Effigies [beasts
and birds] it should be after the pattern of the Ancient
Britains, called Picts from painting, and
Britains from a word of their own language, Breeth,
Painting or Staining.”

            
               burning coals - William Byrd recorded in his diary for
1707, “Then we went to play called burning coals at
which we ran much and were very merry.”

            
               caminute - In 1784 one I.  Tiffany wrote to a storekeeper
in Crompond, N.Y., “By some unaccountable mistake
neglect or some other devilish affair the
caminute was not left as it ought to have been at
New York.”

            
               caul - American Cookery , page 17.  “Roast Mutton.  If a
breast let it be cauled, if a leg, stuffed or not, let it
be done more gently than beef.”

            
               Clark distemper - Justin Foote, a storekeeper in
Crompond, N.Y., in 1784 wrote, “I am a little
touched with the Clark distemper.”

            
               clover mill - In a history of Emmitbury, Md., James Hellman
wrote, “The Hartman mill was built by Dr.
Robert Annan [1765-1827] for a clover mill afterwards
converted into a grist.”

            
               Curse John - In 1774 Philip Fithian was reminiscing in
his diary about his undergraduate days at Princeton
when “they often practised mischief by parading bad
women and burning Curse John.”  Rev. John Witherspoon
was president of the college 1768-1794.

            
               disteress - A character in Robert Mumford's play, The
Candidate , refers to “a very disteress motive.”

            
               ferret - Jones, describing Howe's mischianza [q.v.] wrote,
“A grand regatta began the procession.  In the first,
was the Ferret galley with several general officers
and a number of ladies.”

            
               gropish - Boston merchant John Rowe's diary for the
1760s refers to “Old fogrums only persue a gropish
disposition.”

            
               Indian Cabinet - In his London Diary, William Byrd
wrote “We played at stock jobbing.  For the Indian
Cabinet I gave B.B. the chance of one card and
H.L. the chance of the other, but neither won.”

            
               mole - The Boston Independent Journal in 1776 advertised
“8 thousand gallons of Mole molasses.”

            
               moschetto - In 1701 John Randolph wrote, “Mr.
Archdale provided for him a moschetto engine
against his master's will to catch fish.”  Moschetto is
listed in the OED as a variant spelling of mosquito .
One meaning of mosquito is `light and quick,' as a
mosquito fleet .  Is this just a lightweight fish trap?

            
               Mount - John Rowe recorded in his diary for 1760,
“Clearing sugar from the Mount... They are all
called in from molesting the Mount Trade.”

            
               nihil account - In 1776 William Eddis was a customs collector
paid by the British government and his loyalty
was suspect by the local Committee of Observation.
He wrote to them, “We are not entitled to our salaries
without a nihil account transmitted quarterly for
our proceedings.”

            
               Norris's Drops - On November 22, 1772, George Washington
bought “two bottles of Norris's Drops for
Miss Custis.”  Norris's Antimonial Drops were
widely advertised in Virginia newspapers, but their
content is unknown.

            
               pluck money - N.Y. Executive Council Minutes
12/5/1670: “Upon mature Consideracon had hereupon,
Mr. Sharp having confest his Error, It was Ordered,
that hee pay back to Mr. Nicholas Bayard all
the Pluck-Money delivered out at the Sale.”

            
               Priory sheep - Mr. H.H. Gardner wrote in a 1775 letter,
“I have often wished for a good flock of Priory
sheep.”

            
               set her up - William Byrd, in his London Diary recorded,
“After dinner we gave a girl half a Guinea each to
set her up.”  I can guess what they did, but cannot
find confirmation.

            
               single stockings - John Harrower recorded in his diary,
“I think no more of seeing forty or fifty Nigers every
day than I did of seeing so many dabling wives at
Johnsmiss with single stockings.”  The OED defines
them as stockings of one thickness, unlined.  All citations
are 1552 or earlier.  Why would Harrower be
concerned with the thickness of stockings?

            
               spark - John Rowe recorded in his diary, “I hope that
spark may yet in some part... be obliged to do me
justice.”

            
               spunge - American Cookery, p. 38: “RUSK - To make...
One pint milk, 1 pint emptins, to be laid over night
in Spunge.”

            
               stock jobbing - See Indian Cabinet , above.

            
               trustings - A Connecticut law of 1676 regulating the cost
of provisions provided, “Trustings and trifles under a
shilling being left to each man's agreement.”

            
               turf boat - O'Callaghan, Vol I, pg 532, foot note: “Adriaen
van der Donck, a free citizen of Breda... a
descendant of Adriaen van Bergen, part owner of
the famous turf boat in which a party of Dutch
troops were clandestinely introduced in the year
1599 into the castle of that city.”

            
               wait - A 1730 deed from Thomas Hadden of Scarsdale,
N.Y. “to John ffisher a certain small wait or parcel of
Land lying and being situate in the Mannor of ScarsDale
aforesaid.”

            
               whip over the ground - A character in Robert Mumford's
1770 play, The Candidate , observed, “You are determined
to whip over the ground.”
         
         
            Dictionary of English Personal Names
            When it comes to teaching materials for their
English students, the Russians are nothing if not
thorough.  Here now, amid the standard course-books
and grammars, is a specialist dictionary of
English personal names, or as we would probably
prefer to call them, first names.  The modest paperback
can be regarded as a complementary volume to
the author's earlier work, A Dictionary of English
Surnames, published in 1986.  It contains some
4,000 first names, and as well as the main body of
the dictionary has a brief preface, a short section on
the history of English first names, a bibliography,
and a separate listing of some 1,000 derivatives or
pet names, with cross references to their full form.

            Inevitably, one compares the main entries with
those in similar recent works, such as Leslie
Dunkling and William Gosling's Everyman's Dictionary
of First Names (1983) and Patrick Hanks and
Flavia Hodges' A Dictionary of First Names (1990).
The content and treatment fall somewhere between
the two, although the style is noticeably more succinct
and less discursive.  Where Rybakin scores
over the other two works is in the provision of
pronunciations and, for a main or source name, a
selection of literary characters who bear it.  In the
latter respect it differs from Dunkling and Gosling,
who go more for real-life bearers, especially stage
and screen celebrities, and from Hanks and Hodges,
whose representation of historic bearers is rather restricted.
When a name is biblical and of Hebrew
origin, too, Rybakin boldly goes where few lexicographers
have gone before and gives the actual Hebrew
(albeit in Roman transliteration).

            A typical Rybakin main name entry has seven
items of information following the headword that is
the name itself: pronunciation (in IPA), gender, Russian
form (both traditional and modern), language(s)
of origin, ultimate literal meaning, examples of literary
bearers, and derivatives.  Equivalents in other
languages sometimes serve as an eighth item.  So
here he is, for example (in English translation, and
with abbreviations spelled out), on Susan :


SUSAN ['su:zn], feminine, Suzan, earlier Suzan,
from French Susanne, Suzanne, from Late Latin
Susanna, from Greek Sousanna, from Hebrew
shūshannāh, `lily', see SUSANNA, SUSANNAH.  SUSAN
IS CHARACTER IN THOMAS HEYWOOD'S PLAY A
Woman Killed with Kindness (1607).  Susan Pearson
is character in Charlotte Brontë's novel Shirley
(1849).  Derivatives: SUE, SUEY, SUKE, SUKEY,
SUKIE, SUKY, SUSIE, SUSY, SUZY.

            

            An entry like this has its good and bad points.  It
is good to have the name traced back through the
different languages to its Hebrew original; but the
inclusion of just two literary Susans (out of what
must be hundreds) tells us little, except perhaps that
the name was already in general English use in the
early 17th century.  (As their role models Dunkling
and Gosling prefer the popular actresses Susan Hayward,
Susan Hampshire, and Susan Strasberg, while
Hanks and Hodges instance no individual Susan at
all, literary or otherwise.)

            Rybakin's range of names is comprehensive.  As
well as all the expected first names, old and new,
that appear in dictionaries of this type, he includes
names that are more familiar from the Bible and literature
than everyday life, so that his letter G , for
instance, takes in Galahad and Ganymede and his
letter P Pliny and Psyche , none of which appears in
the other two books.  But even if almost no one is
now (or ever) called by these names, it is excellent
to have a book that gives their origins, if only for
purely academic interest.

            Rybakin's etymologies are mostly quite sound
and accord with current scholarship.  However, he
proposes a source in Latin ancillus , `servant' for Lancelot ,
which like most names in the Arthurian cycle
is almost certainly of Celtic origin.  He also offers the
hoary old `bitterness' or `rebelliousness' for Mary ,
whereas it is now thought that the name derives
from the Hebrew root element MRH meaning literally
`to be plump,' so in a transferred sense `strong,'
`beautiful.'

            In a bare six and a half pages Rybakin takes us
on a crash course in the history of English first
names, from Anglo-Saxon Æthelbeald to the titlederived
names of modern times such as Duke and
Earl .  He rightly devotes part of his survey to a consideration
of surnames as first names, although in his
main entries names of this type such as Bradley,
Chester, Clifford, and Seymour are simply explained
as deriving `from the surname.'  Dunkling and Gosling
and Hanks and Hodges, on the other hand, take
such names back to their own origin, often in a
place-name.  But maybe Rybakin felt that thus far is
far enough, and that for surname origins the reader
is best advised to consult a different dictionary, such
as his own.

            Armed with both his books and, of course, a
knowledge of Russian, one has a guide to English
personal names that would be a useful addition to
anyone's reference shelves.

            Adrian Room

            
               Stamford, Lincolnshire
            
         
         
            The Multilingual PC Directory
            This descriptive catalogue lists about 300 multilingual
and foreign language products for IBM PCs
and compatibles, “supporting as many languages,
which are available in over 70 countries from over
1000 manufacturers, publishers, and affiliates.”  It
includes product profiles, describing the main features
and noteworthy multilingual or foreign language
capabilities, computer and software requirements,
languages supported, any known reviews,
and price information in local currency (but with
currency conversion), detailed costs of shipping and
technical support as well as credit card and other
charges.  The company profiles section gives the addresses,
telephone, facsimile, and telex numbers of
all manufacturers and publishers, with their international
affiliates and dealers.  More than thirty different
types of products are described, including word
processors, desktop publishing, fonts, translation
packages, spelling checkers, and their applications.

            In some cases, an accompanying illustration displays
the alphabets available; for example, the Alaph
[ sic ] Beth Font Kit includes Aramaic (Fourth, Sixth,
Eighth, and Ninth century fonts), Assyrian/Babylonian,
Coptic, Cuneiform (Ras Shamra and Ugaritic),
Hieroglyphics (+850), North Semitic, Phoenician,
Sabæan, and Syriac (Estrangelo, Serto, and Eastern
scripts).  It is described as designed to work with
Multi-Lingual Scholar from Gamma Productions.
Each font comes with different sizes ranging from 9
to 20 points, and styles may include normal (roman),
italic, inverse, and outline.  The listed price for this
package is $195 for a dot matrix printer, $345 for a
laser printer.

            In the Language Reference section one can find,
in convenient tabular form, a listing of scores of languages,
where they are (or were) used, the script
employed, and useful notes indicating, for example,
that the “Anglo-Saxon” of “Ancient England” used
the “Latin” script “plus \?\ (edh), \?\ (thorn), and æ
(ash or æsc).  Also shown are the ASCII, Roman-8,
ECMA-94 Latin 1, and ECMA-94 Latin 2 symbol
sets.  There is a useful glossary of computer and typographic
terms and a detailed Index with more
than 10,000 entries.  Other serendipitous singularities
can be found, like Publishing Details, which describes
the methods used in producing the book.
The author/compiler, Ian Tresman, M.Sc., University
of Manchester 1983, designed and copublished
a utility program called WYSIWYG in 1986 and, as
Technical Manager at Intex Systems (UK), was responsible
for the Intext Multilingual Wordprocessor.

            Tresman would appear to be among the few
computer experts capable of organizing his thoughts
and writing in standard English.  Anyone who has
fumingly, frustratedly tolerated the confusions, inaccuracies,
incompletenesses, illiteracies, and genera;
inabilities of manual-writers to describe the accompanying
programs will be relieved and delighted to
encounter the simple, straightforward presentation
of information in this book, which is an essential for
any individual, company, or educational institution
that has occasion to deal with foreign languages and
their alphabets.

            Laurence Urdang

            [Note: In the US, the Directory is available from
Knowledge Computing, P.O.Box 3068, Stamford,
CT 06902 (Fax: [phone]): $34.95 + shipping
(US/UK $5; Europe $7; World $14).  In the UK, it is
available from Knowledge Computing, 9 Ashdown
Drive, Borehamwood, Herts.  WD6 4LZ/UK: ¥19.95
+ shipping (UK ¥3; Europe ¥4; elsewhere ¥8).  Payment
may be made by credit card, banker's draft (on
US or UK bank), or international money order on a
US or UK bank in US dollars or sterling.]
         
         
            The Oxford Dictionary of New Words
         
         
            Neologisms
            It is always interesting to see the publication of
two competing books on the same subject appear at
the same time, for the reviewer is thereby given the
opportunity to “compare and/or contrast” them.
These two, as can be seen from the bibliographic
information above, are almost exactly the same
length, and their trim sizes are identical; the typography
of the ODNW is superior as is the binding,
Neologisms , though higher priced, being perfectbound,
like a paperback, and characterized by atrocious
typography.  According to the blurbs, the former
contains 2000 entries, the latter 2700; but the
ODNW is more densely packed with information--
at least thirty per cent more, by my calculations.

            “More,” as we all know, is not necessarily “better.”
There is some overlapping of entries, but the
books offer somewhat different kinds of coverage.
In the first place, with all the new dictionaries published
since 1960 and the updatings and revisions of
existing works that continue to appear, both in the
US and the UK, it is difficult to see why Green chose
to go back to 1960 as a point of departure, unless
one takes into account the publication of the Barnhart
Dictionary of New English Since 1963 (1973)
and its second edition (1980) and assumes that this
book was intended to compete with them; certainly,
Neologisms hasn't patch on Barnhart's books.  The
Oxford work, however, gives a great deal of useful
information, largely, I imagine, because Oxford's
citation files are probably more extensive than
Green's.  It is instructive to compare the treatment
of an entry from each book:


Neologisms
high five n. [1966]
ritual palm slapping, originated by US blacks
and now popular among a wide range of individuals,
especially sportsmen who raise their hands
and slap palms together to celebrate a victory or
on-field success.  `West Germany: Voller and
Klinsman make with the high fives in Milan.'

(Independent on Sunday, 17 June 1990)

Oxford New Words

high-five noun and verb
In US slang.

noun: A celebratory gesture (originally used in
basketball and baseball) in which two people slap
their right hands together high over their heads;
often in the phrase to lay down or slap high-fives.
Hence also figuratively: celebration, jubilation.

intransitive verb: To lay down high-fives in celebration
of something or as a greeting to celebrate.

Formed by compounding: a five (that is, a hand-slap;
compare British slang bunch of fives for a
hand or fist) that is performed high over the
head.

The high-five was originally a gesture developed
for use in basketball, where it first appeared
among the University of Louisville team in the
1979-80 season; Louisville player Derek Smith
claims to have coined the name.  By 1980 it was
also being used widely in baseball, especially to
welcome a player to the plate after a home run
(and in this respect is similar to the hugs and
other celebratory gestures used by British football
players).  Television exposure soon made it a
fashionable gesture among young people generally;
what ensured its eventual importation to the
UK was its adoption by the Teenage Mutant Turtles
(in the form high-three, since Turtles do not
have fingers) as a jubilant greeting.  All that
touched off a wild celebration of hugs, high-fives
and champagne spraying.

USA Today 14 Oct. 1987, p. 1

A month has passed since the election and still
Republicans and Democrats are high-fiving.

Maclean's 2 Apr. 1990, p. 11

So with a flying leap and a double high-five the
two teammates celebrated the start of a new
season.

Sports Illustrated Dec. 1990,p. 16

            

            The differences in length and fullness are obvious.
The stated purpose of the ODNW , as set forth
in the Preface, is “to provide an informative and
readable guide to about two thousand high-profile
words and phrases which have been in the news
during the past decade.”  Green, on the other hand,
describes a different purpose in his Introduction,
to wit:


to encompass as wide as pertinent a range of
vocabulary, the sole proviso being that the word
or usage has entered the language in the last
thirty years....  The basic qualification for inclusion
has been that the language in question has
entered the mainstream.

            

            Thus, Green cannot be faulted for offering more
succinct entries, especially when the further comment
in ODNW indicates a difference in purpose:


The best one can hope to do in a book of this
kind is to take a snapshot of the words and senses
which seem to characterize our age and which a
reader in fifty or a hundred years' time might be
unable to understand fully (even if these words
were entered in standard dictionaries) without a
more expansive explanation of their social, political,
or cultural context.

            

            While neither editor deserves high fives for lucid
exposition, the message is that different targets
were being aimed at, and, unless one wishes to have
both books, the choice between them may be
thought to remain an open one.  Still, I am nagged
by inadequacies in Green's definition of high-five ,
which suggests that each individual might be simply
clapping his hands together, and I am bothered by
the ODNW's failure to note the date of entry into
the language, saying that the earliest use of the term
dates to 1979; I think that Green is right to hint at
the fact that the gesture preceded its use in sport:
my guess is that slap five arose among black teenagers
or, perhaps, musicians as a form of greeting, approval,
farewell, and the like and was later carried
over into sports (perhaps, as the ODNW suggests, by
Derek Smith), where it became high five .  It seems
unlikely that we shall ever know for sure.

            One question is raised by the statement in the
ODNW: Why should contemporary users need or
want information expressly prepared for readers
fifty or a hundred years hence?  The question is, of
course, specious: the book is available now, for all to
see, and if one does not need or want the more replete
version, the “abridged” style of Neologisms
may well suffice.  Personally, I like to see as much
discussion of the meaning, sense development, and
origin of a term as I can find, but one must sacrifice
that to get a longer list of entries.  Also, one will find
jet set in Neologisms , because it was coined after
1960; but it is not in the ODNW because it was
coined before 1980.  Both list Filofax ( Neologisms
holding that the trade mark was registered in 1941,
the ODNW says the early thirties), and, as expected,
the latter includes several subentries (e.g., Filofiction ,
which indicates not only the productivity of
Filo - as a prefix but the metaphoricity of the element)
and six citations; Neologisms , in its short entry
and one citation, leaves the user to derive what he
can about the metaphoric uses of the word.

            I have not taken the trouble to research the accuracy
of the information given in these books, but
I did note that grody (to the max) , which is not in
Neologisms , is described in the ODNW as “US teenagers'
slang”; while that might be technically correct,
I have evidence that leads me to believe that it
originated in the slang of Hawaiian teenagers, and
while no American would dispute the nationality of
Hawaiians, responsibility should be laid at the door
of the real culprits.

            Laurence Urdang
         
         
            The Oxford Encyclopedic English Dictionary
            Reviewing dictionaries of this kind--those similar
in content and purpose to what are called “college”
or “desk” dictionaries in the US--is probably
quite useless in providing guidance to potential purchasers:
there is always the temptation to carp at
omissions, cavil at what are seen as infelicities in defining
and other information, and argue one's case
against the theories that are reflected in the organization
of the text.  In the long run, however, dictionary
reviews probably serve no function: in the face
of the relatively overwhelming funds at the disposal
of some publishers to promote their books, reviews
fail to dissuade people from buying bad dictionaries;
such a small percentage of the dictionary-buying
public attend to reviews that their effect is slight
even when favourable; finally, the value of a dictionary
to an individual can be tested only over long use,
which even the wisest reviewer cannot anticipate.

            I have found many things to criticize in the
OEED , some of which are matters of accuracy and
consistency and inclusion, others matters of taste
and preference, all of which I feel it my duty to report.
It is the proper function of a reviewer to question
the reason behind the publication of a book,
though, in the present case I believe it to be that
Oxford University Press took a long, hard look at the
revenues to be realized from a dictionary that could
compete, in the UK market at least, with dictionaries
of similar length published by Collins, Longman,
Chambers, and others.  And in the UK market a
price of ¥16.95 might make sense.  In the US market,
a price of $27.95 (or $29.95) for a dictionary of
about the same extent as the larger college dictionaries
(by Random House, Simon & Schuster, and
American Heritage), which sell for about $18,
makes no sense at all, especially when the subject
work falls short of the competition in a number of
respects.

            The encyclopedic sizzle, packed into the back
of the book, seems an (unfortunate) afterthought,
imitative of a similarly constituted edition of the
Collins English Dictionary , and quite sloppily put together
at that.  Many of the pages are not numbered,
and a number of the callouts (labels, that is) on the
illustrations are not even entered into the main text
of the dictionary, to wit, number 8, fly-half, nose
tackle, tight end, wide receiver, safety, linebacker,
cornerback , to name a few.  A note in Appendix 32
informs that “In Rugby League there are no flankers,”
yet under flanker 3 the definition “a flank forward”
is preceded by “(in Rugby and American
Football),” flank forward is defined as “ Rugby Foot-ball
a wing forward,” and I was unable to find any
entry for wing forward , on its own, under wing , or
under forward .  The difference in style make one
wonder about the distinction, if any, between “(in
Rugby Football)” and “ Rugby Football ”: the Guide
in the front is of no help.

            There is a color map section at the end of the
dictionary.  (There are no illustrations in the text.)

            The “encyclopedic” character of the book,
then, cannot be traced to the handful of listings and
diagrams in the back matter--structure of the
United Nations, genealogical table of British sovereigns,
and other dull material easily found in other
sources; it must lie in the text itself.  Sure enough, in
the entry for Rugby we find out why the football has
its present oval shape (because they originally used a
pig's bladder, which, as we all know, is footballshaped).

            Getting into the dictionary itself, one becomes
aware that something is a foot, for there are not as
many headwords as one might expect to find in other
books of this size.  The reason is that OUP have
cleaved to their favourite structural approach to the
listing of compounds, phrases, and hyphenated
words by nesting them beneath the “main” word.  I
have never been a devotee of that approach, not on
philosophical grounds but on grounds of convenience
to the user.  In the OUP system, chain-armour,
chain bridge, chain drive, chain-gang, chain-gear,
chain-letter, chain-link, chain-mail, chain reaction,
chain-saw, chain-smoker, chain-stitch, chain store,
chain-wale , and chain-wheel are all entered as subentries
under chain.
            

            The most naive speaker of English realizes,
without going into the details of their syntactosemantic
relationships, that chain-armour and chainmail
do not bear the same relationship to chain as
chain-gang, chain-letter , and chain-stitch , that the
chain in chain reaction is different from that in chain
store (not `a store where one buys chains') and in
chain-smoker (not `a person who smokes chains'),
and that while chain drive and chain-saw are related
because both are driven by chains, the use of chain
in chain-link and chain-mail is semantically misleading,
for the chief characteristic of a chain is its “one-dimensionality”
while chain-link and chain-mail are,
of course, two-dimensional--creating what might be
considered a bent metaphor.  To me the placement
of chain-armour under chain strongly implies the
meaning `armour made of parts linked together as in
a chain'; but that is certainly not the case, as the
definition at once makes clear.  In other words,
chains are characterized by sequential, linear linking,
in which the parts or interlocked end to end,
clearly not the case in chain-armour or chain-link
(for instance).  However unfortunate purists might
view that fact to be, at least if the entries are listed
separately, at some graphic remove from the entry
for chain , their physical distance would make their
semantic, metaphoric distance more understandable.
If the only reason for submerging these compounds
under a key word is that they share an element
that has the same form, then I consider that
inadequate.  If there is any justification for submerging
them, then it must be that there is a semantic
category of chain that suggests `two-dimensional interlacing'
(in contrast to linear interlocking), another
that suggests the notion of `interconnected sequence'
(which would take care of chain-smoker,
chain reaction, chain-stitch , etc.), and other describable
semantic reflexes.

            At least the subentries under chain reflect the
same form as the headword.  That is not the case for
alternating current , a subentry under alternate , or
the array to be found under pass , which includes in
passing (participle/gerund), make a pass at (noun),
pass by (verb), passed pawn (adjective/past participle).
This grammatical gallimaufry is not even in alphabetical
order, for pass through comes before pass
the time of day: is there some rule about ignoring
articles that I missed?  Then, thinking that we have
captured them all, we find that passkey, passmark ,
and password are given separate headword status,
presumably because they are solid.  But the vagaries
of spelling are such in our language (see the list at
chain ) that one never can tell where to look for
words unless they are to be listed in some uniform
fashion.  Thus, the user has to come to the dictionary
already aware that peace-offering and peace-pipe are
hyphenated, so they are listed under peace , while
peacemaker and peacetime are solid, hence are headwords:
that is not very helpful if, as is most likely,
the user merely wanted to discover whether the
word he was seeking is spelled with a hyphen, as two
words, or solid.

            Do proverbs have a place in dictionaries?  I
question their status as lexical items but cannot argue
on safe ground because they might well be categorized
as part of the “encyclopedic” information.
Thus, we find cast pearls before swine under pearl,
beggars cannot (or must not) be choosers under beggar ,
and, even more curiously, know the time of day
under time .  I doubt that cannot or must not appear in
the second proverb as frequently as can't (I cannot
recall ever having heard must not or even mustn't );
but the last expression is always preceded by not ,
and other representations are inaccurate.

            Other unpleasant questions arise from inconsistencies:

            1)  Why is George Gershwin identified as being
“of Russian-Jewish family” while Irving Berlin is described
as “Russian-born, “and Benny Goodman and
Leonard Bernstein as “American”?  (There is no
suggestion at their entries that Fats Waller, Duke
Ellington, or Louis Armstrong were black, but,
while no direct mention is made of Bessie Smith's
color, the “encyclopedic” information--in a six-line
entry--yields the intelligence that “She died from
injuries received in a car accident, reportedly after
being refused admission to a `Whites only' hospital.”)

            2)  Why is Ralph Vaughan Williams listed under
Vaughan Williams but Sir Arthur Conan Doyle appears
under Doyle?
            

            3)  Why is the dispute between the Greek government
and the British Museum over the Elgin
Marbles raised in a dictionary (regardless of how encyclopedic
it is)?

            4)  What accounts for the seemingly random
amount of space devoted to biographical entries?:
Elgar gets 15; Elizabeth I 16; Elizabeth II 8 (quite
unrevealing, though friendly and chatty).


            The question of whether proper names of people
and places have a rightful place in a dictionary is
probably an obsolete one: their presence was formerly
justified on the grounds that as “words” they
are far more frequent than many of the “legitimate”
words, like elytron, greave, or mithridatism .  That
might be justifiable if there were accurate frequency
information available.  That not being the case, certain
names are in because the people and places are
well known, some are in because they belong to categories,
like presidents of the United States, world
capitals, all places with a population exceeding x
thousand, and so on.  By frequency standards, then,
Millard Fillmore, Arthur Meighen, and Eadwig,
would be unlikely to make it (though I expect to
hear from their respective booster clubs).

            Balance is a questionable feature in this book:
the information about L.S.B. Leakey's widow and
son seems a bit over the top, as does the note about
his citizenship; Captain Cook gets 19 lines; the
United States 21, Niels Bohr 27; Shakespeare 21,
and so on.  One might think, given the emphasis on
encyclopedic information, that etymologies of place
names would be included, but they are not.  The basic
problem is that the editors did not seem able to
make value judgments regarding the amount of
space to be devoted to the entries: on the one hand
we find acid house, chaos theory, and desktop publishing,
none of them succinctly written, on the
other, long, strung-out entries on Steffi Graff, Margaret
Atwood, and Paul McCartney, and to what
avail?  As a consequence of all this deadwood, we are
denied useful lexicographical information, like the
fact that chapter and capital are cognates.

            Were I to nitpick at missing entries, I suppose I
would find the kinds of omissions that amateur reviewers
delight in, but I shall mention only one.  On
the day I picked up the OEED to review, Philip
Howard's feature, Word-Watching, in The Times [11
November 1991], used in his definition of cicisbeism
the word poodle-faker, which, as near as I can make
out, is an obscure or archaic Briticism, possibly military
slang.  Still, neither is in the OEED , though both
are in Collins English Dictionary .

            As might be gathered from the foregoing, I am
not enamored of this book as a dictionary, though I
must admit that it is different and might well set a
trend in reference books.  We seem to be entering a
stage when many families might have in the entire
house only one book that provides any clue to what
is going on in the real world.  I suppose that if that is
the case, this one might be it.

            Laurence Urdang

            [US readers should be told that the spellings and
pronunciations (given in IPA--International Phonetic
Alphabet) are British.  The spelling can be
coped with by anyone with intelligence, especially
as the American spellings are given, too.  As no one
appears to use the pronunciations anyway, they matter
little.]
         
         

            Naming Names



            According to a Reuters item published in The
Times [30 October 1991], four months after being
found unconscious outside a bingo hall in Stockholm
with “Joe Smith” engraved on his wrist bracelet,
an amnesia victim is memorizing his true name,
Djelassi Ali Ben Belgasam Ben Kilami.

         
         
            
“8:00 PM BET FRANK'S PLACE The Chez is sued for
serving a patron too many drinks after he is killed in a car
accident.”  [From “TV Week,” The Washington Post,
.  Submitted by ]

         
         
            
“After the jury convicted a rapist in circuit court last
week, Judge Ted Coleman sentenced him to prison `for
the rest of your natural life with credit for the 34 days
already served.' ”  [From Column World, by Bob Morris,
in The Orlando Sentinel , .  Submitted
by ]

         
         
            
“Make your homecoming a memorial one.”  [From
the South Dakota State College Eastern .  Submitted by ]