Vol IV, No 1 [May 1977]

Deciphering The Four-Letter Word in a Medieval Manuscript’s Satire on Friars

Carter Revard, St. Louis, Missouri

The English may now reclaim from the Scots the honor, if such it be, of being the first to put the popular quadriliteral into writing. As one might expect, however, they used a bastard form of the word, and they wrote it only in cipher: thus, even though the poem containing this coded occurrence has been in print for a hundred and forty years, the Victorian scholar who printed it with full knowledge of what he was printing, but who left it to his readers to decipher the medieval scribe’s code, could certainly have felt that the public would not be corrupted by the word, and it was left to D. H. Lawrence and others to curl the aspidistra permanently.

As for the Scots claim to primacy in this matter, it rests on the shoulders of William Dunbar, whose poem of ca. 1502 was the first instance which the editors of the OED’s Revised Supplement, Vol. I. (1972), could find of a written use of the word. However, a British Museum manuscript, Harley 3362, contains among its many jokes, proverbs, riddles, and pious poems a group, on folio 24r (old numbering p. 47), which vigorously vituperate friars. Certain lines of this invective are written in a cipher or code, and when deciphered one word among these is fuccant, which in context is indubitably our word, though it has been given a mock-Latin form (with participial -ant) in keeping with the macaronic language of the lines in which it occurs.1

These lines were first printed in 1845 by Thomas Wright, in his Reliquiae Antiquae (Vol. I, pp. 91-92). Since they have not been reprinted, I shall present them here, before discussing their contents, date, and some problems concerning them.

1 fflen flyys and freris/populum domini male caedunt,
þustlis and breris/crescentia gramina ledunt.
Xriste, nolens guerras, / sed cuncta pace tueris,
Destrue per terras / breris flen fly\?\es & freris.

5 fflen fly\?\es and freris / Foul falle hem þys fyften \?\eris,
ffor’non \?\at her ys / louit flen fly\?\es ne freris.
Fratres carmeli / nauigant in a both apud Eli;
Non sunt in celi / quia gxddbov xxkxx\?\t pg ifmk—
Omnes drencherunt / quia sterisman non habuerunt.

10 ffratres cum knyuys / goþ about and txxkx\?\v
nfookt xx\?\xkt.

Ex Eli veniens presenti / sede locatur,
Nec rex nec sapiens, / Salomon tamen vocatur.
Pediculus cum sex / pedibus me mordet vbique;

14 Si possum capere / tokl tobl debet ipsem habere.

Lines 1-6 here attack friars generally, while lines 7-10 verberate the Carmelite Friars of Ely particularly. Wright made the interesting point that in his day, “two lines… are still popular among schoolboys in the following modified form: Tres fratres coeli navigabant roundabout Ely; Omnes drownderunt qui swimaway non potuerunt,” and he further remarked that “the expressions concealed by the cypher…are rather gross, and do not speak much for the morals of the Carmelites of Ely.”2 This remark set me to examining the cipher, of course, and I succeeded in decoding it. It merely involves substitution of the next letter in the alphabet, so that if the encipherer began with an a, he would write b, if with a b, he wrote c, and so on.3 Thus, in line 8, gxddbov xxkxx\?\t pg ifmk is written for fuccant uuiuis of Heli, with fuccant formed on the same lines as drencherunt in the next line (9). The friars of Ely, according to the poem, will never get to heaven, because they are fuccant the wives of Ely. To this elegant criticism the rhymer ads that they will all drown because they have no steersman— no doubt a double entendre—and further, that friars with knives are going around and swiving men’s wives, this being of course the same assertion made by most critics of the ubiquitous medieval friars, as for instance in Chaucer’s General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, where he describes the Friar as having his hood ay farsed ful of knyves / And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.

We observe that our medieval scribe has enciphered not only fuccant, but also suuiuit. Obviously these words were synonymous at this time, and the modern version had not yet pushed out the older swive as yet.4 But this brings us to the important question: Just when was the poem written, or at least when was it written into the manuscript?

Inspection of the script and hand shows that it could have been almost any time in the middle or later fifteenth century. Use of þ (thorn) and \?\ (yogh) would seem to rule out a dating in later sixteenth century, but it is not possible to assign a precise date on palaeographic grounds alone, and I have not had time to look for historical references or other evidence that might pin down the date of transcription. Wright said the date was “of the fifteenth century,” and this is Max Förster’s opinion also (Anglia vol. 42, 1918, pp. 198, 207), though Förster specifies that the MS. is of the latter part of the century, i.e., ca. 1450-1500. And editors of the Middle English Dictionary have also assigned a date of ca. 1500 to the MS.; in my opinion, the date is palaeographically more likely to have been ca. 1450-75 than 1500. In any event, it is almost certainly as early as Dunbar’s poem, and very probably earlier by some years.

But a final problem must be spoken to: Why did the scribe encipher those passages? One might simply think he was keeping these naughty words away from uninitiated eyes, and perhaps that is the case. But if so, then why did he also use the cipher in line 14 (the last one given above) for the words describing what he will do to the lice biting him if he can catch them? Those words, as we see by deciphering tokl tobl, are just snik snak, and it is hard to see why the poet or scribe should have thought them obscene enough to put the figleaf of his cipher over them. Perhaps, of course, snick-snack was accompanied by an obscene gesture, of a sort not hard to imagine, and the audience would have rolled in the aisles at the thought of doing that to a body-louse.

Which brings us, surely, to the realization that the cipher is meant not to conceal as much as to reveal. Like a bikini, it is meant to draw attention rather than baffle it. Snik-snak put straightforwardly onto the page is not half so funny as tokl-tobl becomes, when one has the Aha! pleasure added to the Yeah! one: it is the slight stammer of the humorist before he gets the right word out, making the joke funnier. Now, I might be wrong: but the cipher is so very simple, and the whole point of a riddle is to have an answer, after all. So it is my opinion that the medieval scribe here was not really showing how shameful the words seemed to him but adding a little extra spice to the joke of using the words about friars. Instead of obeying a taboo, that is, the scribe was exploiting it: this is a case of what Allen Walker Read (in Language vol. 40 no. 2, April-June 1964, pp. 162-66) has called “a type of ostentatious taboo.” In fact, what the scribe was doing is very like what we do when we print “f—k” while expecting that every reader will know that the word meant is—well, you-know-what! We have lately enriched our vocabularies in this area, too, with the word bleep (bleeping), which has replaced earlier blank, blankety-blank, not to mention s.o.b. and the like. Who knows? We may soon see, with returning censorship, ciphers replacing these acronyms and replacements.

VAN GOGH, VAN GOGH, VAN GOGH

It seems rather rough On Vincent Van Guff

When those in the know Call him Vincent Van Go

For unless I’m way off He was Vincent Van Gogh.

Joe Ecclesine

Rye, New York

Gloria in extremis….

The County Council of Buckinghamshire, England, has struck a low blow against women’s lib. The municipal parking garage has restrooms, side by side, marked “Gentlemen” and “Disabled,” respectively.

Sic transit, Gloria Steinem.

The Seat of Our Affections

Clair Schulz, Clinton, Wisconsin

It is impossible to say when I first developed this fascination with bodies, but once implanted in my brain there was no ousting it. Some may call it an unnatural interest in an unpleasant subject and they may be right. But that won’t stop me from recording the results of my impassioned study of anatomy.

Those who expect to find the confessions of a voyeur or a coroner here had best look elsewhere; my interest in the body pertains to the sentiments that go with it for it is the passions that attend the body that give it life. Even Frank enstein realized this. If he had found his creation devoid of emotion, he would have stamped Reject on his forehead and torn him limb from limb (being careful to tear along the perforations).

What began as a casual inquiry during my collegiate days has now become an avocation. It has sharpened all my senses, above all the sense of hearing. Most people are not even aware that I possess this sensitivity. As long as conversations stay away from bodies, I appear to be just another disinterested party. But let someone drag in a torso or limb and slap some emotion on it and I will digest every morsel.

Traditionally, people have assigned the emotions to three parts of the body: the stomach, the heart, and the head. The stomach is the source of gut reactions and it occasionally serves as a gateway to the heart. The heart, because of its association with the soul, has become a symbol of love and spirit in expressions such as “Peg o' my heart” and “She’s got a lot of heart,” variations of the latter being given so much mileage by comedians that one could attribute the death of burlesque to heart failure. And, when someone says, “She’s got a good head on her shoulders” or “Let’s put our heads together,” he is obviously referring to the center of the intellect.

For years the three lived in harmony, each carrying out its separate duties and each being content in its own realm. Oh, occasionally there are some rumors of an uprising. A dish of ice cream might cause the stomach to go to a person’s head or excitement carry the heart as far as the throat, but they soon fade away. They’ve always known their place.

But now a usurper has appeared. It was there all the time, but few paid any attention to it. Gradually, in degrees so small as to be imperceptible to most people, it has crept into the language and now rivals not only other parts of the body for dominance but also challenges all the words in certain individual’s vocabularies for frequency of use.

How does it manifest itself? In many forms.

Perhaps it appears most frequently in situations of anger. My research has shown that very often during crises one person will request another to place some unidentifiable it in a specific location. Paradoxically, if this proves ineffectual, this same person who made the request will often ask the other person to kiss this portion of his own anatomy in a gesture of apparent goodwill.

Or it could be something just short of anger that causes its invocation. If a series of events brings about a feeling of irritation within a person, he is likely to say that any person or thing is causing him discomfort. At one time this arbitrarily placed affliction was said to take root in the neck. Lately, the sensors seem to have dropped about two feet.

It seems not only sensitive to varying levels of exasperation but to changes in temperature as well. Indeed, it can readily claim the title of the Body’s Thermometer. Apparently, it reaches 32° faster than any other part of the body. The nose was formerly considered to be a reliable instrument, but I can’t recall its accuracy being tested since a cold November day when a little girl I know looked up long enough from her hula hoop to tell her mother, “I’m freezing my nose off.” The increased dependence upon the newer device may result in more people being accused of wasting time by standing around while checking the temperature with their fingers.

Not only has this part developed into the body’s weather station; it also strives to become its classroom. At a time when learning was believed to originate in the brain it was not unusual to hear a parent say to a child, “If you don’t mind me, I’m going to give you a good hit across the side of the head.” Despite the pleading of educators against training by punishment, threats are still used to control conduct or to suggest correction. However, current usage indicates that certain traits can be taught without risking cranial lumps or welts on the backs of hands. The foot now serves a tutorial purpose once reserved for the hickory stick, although the sector of the body receiving the instruction has not been altered. The word good remains in the incantation delivered by the teacher and it usually is followed by the word swift. Some football coaches have found films of the activity too swift, and so they have employed slow motion techniques to illustrate the importance of keeping the head down and follow-through to their field goal kickers.

This movement to take over the functions of the head seems to be gaining momentum. There was a time when people, in describing periods of emotional stress, would say that they were working or worrying their heads off. No more. This change of address for the sentiments has resulted in a substantial decrease in the number of mothers who ask their children how hard they have been playing.

Even the location of the sense of humor has been questioned. Just as people centuries ago were certain where the four humors of the body were to be found, modern man seemed confident that gibes and gambols resided within the chopfallen or chopful walls of the skull. A person who showed unrestrained amusement was said to be “laughing his head off.” The popularity of this saying is being threatened by a similar expression, although it is doubtful that the newer form will achieve supremacy because smiles are seen only on faces.

Whether the head will retain its distinctive features or whether it will lose its leadership and become assimilated is a question posterity will answer. There is no doubt that it has lost ground. I find myself cringing involuntarily when I hear a forlorn gambler forgo the standard “I lost my head” for a more desperate statement of despair. And sometimes at night I conjure up surrealistic scenes involving guillotines as I consider how the course of French history would have been altered had this interchange of linguistic function been prevalent during the days of the Reign of Terror.

Despite these disturbing developments, I continue my self-appointed role as the body’s watchdog. My research has taken me to “The Miller’s Tale,” and in the near future I may be able to conclusively relate Chaucer with this newest phenomenon. It will be published as soon as I can account for the lag of six centuries.

I listen, as before, but my friends say that lately I have replaced my indifferent expression with one bordering on bewilderment. I have the feeling that they are tossing their members into the conversation to see if the old eyes, ears, nose, and throat man will come alive. Perhaps they read my face correctly; maybe they are humoring me. All I know for certain is that the next time I see a man holding his wrist and asking the question “Heads or tails?” I will be able to sympathize with his confusion.

EPISTOLA {M. Carolyn Jones, Ph.D.}

I just read the first issue of VERBATIM on my husband’s subscription. Generally, I enjoyed it. However, the lead article, “Hear Finish Before (Pause) You?”, contains a serious error.

Cued Speech is not a sign language system as stated by the author. Cued Speech is the antithesis of sign language in that it is a means of providing a visible analog to spoken English. Because the hand is involved, many persons who have not read the very clearly written material by its inventor, Dr. Orin Cornett, a Vice President of Gallaudet University for the Deaf, naively assume it is a manual or sign language system.

[M. Carolyn Jones, Ph.D., New Orleans, Louisiana].

EPISTOLA {Charles Van Doren}

I was very interested in two pieces in the current VERBATIM—the one on cockfighting and all its gifts to English, and your comments on Aristides' comments on 6,000 Words.

As to the former, I am simply astounded. As to the latter, I have to say that I couldn’t agree with you more completely. Why do supposedly intelligent people think that dictionaries should be school marms? I remember the flurry when Webster’s Third International first came out—and Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe threw his copy into the fire! How unutterably silly. And yet it keeps on going.

In fact, I like the vitality of English vocabulary nowadays. Mind, I say vocabulary, not usage; but as to usage, in my memory of things (admittedly only half a century) it has never been very good, overall, and I think back to themes my father wrote in elementary school in 1900: even then, in a good school, the style was terribly stilted (although “correct”), and I think I prefer liveliness with error to correctness without life. You may disagree.

[Charles Van Doren, Chicago, Illinois].

The Growing Use and Abuse of Literally

Elaine F. Tankard and James W. Tankard, Jr.

We have noticed a growing use of the word literally in the past year. Recently we heard a well-educated friend use the word three times in the course of an evening’s conversation. Literally is also showing up more and more frequently in the mass media, unfortunately with a growing lack of precision. Theodore M. Bernstein writes in The Careful Writer: A Modern Guide to English Usage that “literally means true to the exact meaning of the words.” Many people misuse the word to mean figuratively or virtually. Others just use it as an unnecessary superlative.

We have found examples in the following three categories of usage:

INACCURATE (AND OFTEN ABSURD):

An official at the U.S. Government Printing Office wrote, “…we were literally swamped with your orders.”

A brochure advertising calendars stated, “…we know that you are literally flooded with calendars from which to choose…”

A TV commercial for a teriyaki sauce spoke of “a flavor that literally sparkles.”

In the James Bond film The Man with the Golden Gun, one of the characters says the highest bidder for solar energy “will literally have the sun in his pocket.”

A noted Black author said in a speech, “…for generations the talents of Black people were literally poured down the drain.”

A psychologist reviewing for a journal wrote that a book was “literally mind expanding.”

Another psychologist reviewing a book for the same journal wrote that it presented a consensus that “literally scares the hell out of me.”

An editor for a different journal wrote the following ponderous sentence: “During the past few years, scientific interest in and attention to the nonverbal components of human behavior and the relationship of human beings to their physical environment have literally mushroomed.”

The New York Times Book Review contained this statement: “Following literally in the projected footsteps of Harper & Row,…we headed out to California to see if the grass was any greener.”

A minister told a city council his telephone “has literally rung off the hook” since a newspaper published a series about massage parlors.

ACCURATE BUT UNNECESSARY:

A psychologist reviewing for a journal wrote: “This is a most readable book. It is literally exciting.”

A high-brow magazine wrote in a letter seeking subscribers: “After screening literally hundreds of mailing lists, we came up with a relative handful of names like yours…”

A labor leader said during a TV interview: “We’ve just literally got to reduce the work load.”

CORRECT:

A news magazine wrote about Gary Gilmore: “The sentence of death was carried out, eighteen minutes late, only after an extraordinary round of desperation appeals — the last of which was turned down by the U.S. Supreme Court as the prisoner literally sat facing execution.”

Sometimes a careful writer will use a word like actually where a weaker writer would use literally. The following is from a short story by Ann Beattie in The New Yorker: “It hurt her badly, made her actually dizzy with surprise and shame, and since then, no matter who the guests are, she never feels quite at ease on the weekends.”

The fact that we found only one instance in the “correct” category makes us conclude that it is difficult to use literally accurately. We would argue that the word should be saved for those rare cases when something that is usually metaphorical or figurative is actually true.

EPISTOLA {Lester Noyes}

May I submit the title of an award received by a good friend from Manzano AF Base, N.M., in July 1968: Defense Atomic Support Agency Suggestion Award Certificate.

[Lester Noyes, University of Colorado Boulder, Colorado].

Illicit Threesomes

Elaine Von Bruns, Middlebury, Vermont

Introduce a legal word couple to a third word and you may set into language a newly meaningful relationship.

Sometimes the single will cling to one partner of the couple, sometimes to the other. And sometimes, if he’s built like one of the partners, only bigger, he’ll break up the couple and claim the other partner for himself. In two of the cases mentioned below, the newcomer brought along friends, linked by hyphens.

Occasionally, the interplay will change the appearance and even the character of the partners. For better? For worse? You be the judge.

COUPLE THREESOMES
ball and chain ball and chain STORE ‘shopping mart for sadomasochists’
comb and brush comb and brush-OFF ‘a new way of parting’
Thanksgiving turkey Thanksgiving turkey BED ‘Pilgrim frolic’
tar and feather tar and feather BED “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it,” said the Patriot to the Tory.
draw and quarter draw and quarter BACK ‘occupations of an artistic athlete’
scotch on the rocks HOP scotch on the rocks ‘game for the inebriated’
running nose running nose DIVE ‘hangout for snifflers’
dinner pail dinner pale FACE ‘nervous guest’
threadbare threadbear HUG ‘lukewarm welcome’
stop and go stop and go -GO ‘traffic signals from a lissome policewoman’
black-and-blue black and blue LAWS ‘the punishing edict of never on a Sunday’
milk and honey milk and honeyMOONERS ‘Prohibition-era newlyweds’
bow and arrow bow TIE and arrow ‘Robin Hood goes formal’

… sometimes he bring along friends:

COUPLE THREESOMES
fish and chips fish and chips-OFF-THE-OLD-BLOCK ‘back-home lunch’
bird in the hand bird in the hand-ME-DOWN

… and sometimes he comes between them and claims a partner for himself:

COUPLE THREESOMES
cloak and dagger cloak and DAGUERREOTYPE ‘old photo of Zorro’
barbershop pole barbershop POLTERGEIST ‘spirit in the hair tonic’
bottleneck bottle NECROPHILIA ‘unmentionable interaction with nonreturnables’
sock hop CASsock hop ‘fun for clergymen’
skin and bones skin and BONSAI ‘Japanese strip show’
cash and carry cash and CARRION ‘profits from graverobbing’

Do you know of any other swinging word couples-about-town?

EPISTOLA {Guy P. Pfeffermann}

I enjoyed reading “Menu Barbarisms” [III, 2]. Here are two examples suggesting that the problems are international. On a recent trip to South America I found the following items on menus: Aristu ‘Irish Stew’; Pitipua ‘petits pois.'[Guy P. Pfeffermann, Chevy Chase, Maryland].

To Understand America (and Americans)….

John O. Herbold II, Lakewood, California

Story has it that in the early days of the 20th century a college professor exclaimed: “To understand America, you must first understand baseball.” And he was probably right, for outside of the horse (“you can lead a horse to water…,” “horse of a different color”, “cart before the horse” etc.,) no other single concrete noun has contributed as many terms as has the “horsehide” sport.

Even Americans who have rarely seen a baseball game will find themselves sprinkling many of the following terms into their daily conversation:

  1. He was born with two strikes against him.
  2. He couldn’t get to first-base with that girl.
  3. He sure threw me a curve that time.
  4. I’ll take a rain-check on it.
  5. He went to bat for me.
  6. I liked him right off the bat.
  7. He was way out in left-field on that one.
  8. He’s a foul ball.
  9. I think you’re way off base on that.
  10. It was a smash hit.
  11. Let’s take a seventh-inning stretch.
  12. I hope to touch all the bases on this report.
  13. Could you pinch-hit for me?
  14. He doesn’t even know who’s on first.
  15. I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.
  16. He’s only a bush-leaguer.
  17. Major League all the way.
  18. We’ll hit ‘em where they ain’t.
  19. He was safe a mile.
  20. He has a lot on the ball.
  21. He really dropped the ball that time.
  22. We’ll rally in the ninth.
  23. No game’s ever over until the last man’s out.

And is there any term in our language more synonymous with failure than “to strike out”?

Had President Nixon stayed in office a while longer, it’s possible that football might have begun to approach baseball in the number of terms used (game plan, kick-off, etc.); but the Nixon team got its signals crossed, so now it’s a whole new ball game.

Baseball, like other occupations, has its own particular terminology and nomenclature, understood only by the esoteric few and not by the everyday fans (fan from fanatic).

For instance, your grandfather would speak of Christy Mathewson’s fadeway or Walter Johnson’s inshoot. Three-fingered Brown threw an outdrop, and in those days you might knock an opposing pitcher out of the box (though rarely one of the aforementioned trio).

Your father spoke of Bob Feller throwing heat, while Tommy Bridges had a good deuce, jug, hook, or Uncle Charlie—all synonyms for the curve-ball. Jim Tobin threw a butterfly pitch because he pulled the string on it, thus making it come in slow.

Today the pitches are pretty much the same, but the terminology has altered some, largely because of the influx of Black players.

The fast ball becomes the express; the hard curve is a slider; and the off-speed pitch is simply referred to as the change-up.

And whether you call a high, hard one thrown at the batter’s head a purpose pitch, a knockdown pitch, or a bean ball, the message remains the same: Metala en su oreja (‘stick it in his ear!').

As mentioned, the Black players have brought in some colorful terms of their own. A pitcher who throws hard can really bring it. The catcher for some strange reason is often called a back catcher. A good hitter is described as being a baaaaddd hitter, and nobody walks but the mailman. A player who excels can get it done, and if he hits well, then he can really stick it.

One never knows what some Black players are going to do with verbs. Some omit them altogether: You out. While others use the word be in its pure form: You be out, brother.

Chicano baseballers love to talk in slang terms, often in Spanish. Hitting the ball well means that you got good wood on it. But they have no real word for bat, so they call it lena or ‘wood.’ One of their most derogatory terms—often directed toward umpires—is the word guy used in place of the name. “Hey, guy, wise up, you cabeza de melon” (‘melon head’). If they really get upset, they’ll call you tonto (‘dumb’) or estupido (‘stupid’). When speaking English, the Latin ball players can likewise be most amusing: “Hit to me the ball.” “His fast ball—he doesn’t have any,” and “he throws several quick.”

I can remember losing one game to a Latin team when a homerun got lost in the bushes enabling the Mexican team to defeat us 11-9. After the game I exclaimed, loud enough for the victors to hear, “We’d have won the game had it not been for those dumb bushes.”

A bit of Latin wisdom followed which I’ve never forgotten: “Well,” replied the player who’d hit the homer, “the bushes—they are the same for everybody.”

Everyone knows that the trite clichés of the Grantland Rice era have been largely eliminated. Today a bat is a bat, not a “mace,” “club,” “willow,” or “stick.” The plate is no longer a “dish,” “pentagon,” or “home.” Umpires are umpires—not “arbiters” or “men in blue”—and we no longer are besieged with such terms as “hot corner,” “keystone,” “Texas Leaguer,” “flyhawk,” “maskman,” and “grasscutter.”

And baseballers still retain two other traditional traits: one, they abbreviate everything they can—DP, RBI, ribbie, “two,” BP (batting practice), PFP (pitchers’ fielding practice), K (strike out), etc. And two, they always use the historical present tense in retelling tales of the past: “I was waiting on the on-deck circle, and Williams is hitting. Well, Cleveland has Bobby Feller going today, and he’s mad at Williams because Williams hit a homer off him the inning before, so while I’m standing there….”

An interesting note is that most of America’s teens and pre-teens are pretty basic in their language—a bat is simply a bat, a pitcher’s a pitcher, and so on. Even the Japanese have borrowed most of the American terms with slight alterations. They play dabulheddas, and they have an outfield consisting of a left-o, cent-o, and right-o, plus a thard-o, show-to, secand-o, and fast-o.

But as mentioned, the American youngsters are not really sports idol worshipers the way their fathers and grandfathers were; and while sports may open many doors to them, they also open numerous mouths in a big yawn. We find this to be pretty much “par for the course.” Oops! That’s a golf term, and that’s “one strike against it,” all of which makes it a mixed metaphor or something.

The Sinister Side of the Language

J. Frank Schulman, Houston, Texas

Why does left get such a bad deal from language? In most languages left has unpleasant associations.

In English, left has associations of political radicalism. It also means ‘abandoned.’ Left-handed means ‘unflattering, dubious, insincere.’ Right, on the other hand, means ‘correct, good, or proper.’ The German words links (‘left’) and rechts (‘right’) have similar meanings.

In Latin, the word for left is sinister. Sinister connotes ‘evil, cunning, scheming.’ The word for right is dexter, from which derives our word dexterous, meaning ‘skillful, clever, or artful.’

In French, gauche means, besides ‘left,’ ‘awkward, tactless, clumsy, lacking in social grace.’ Droit, ‘right,’ has the usual meanings of ‘correct, good, and proper,’ and also means ‘law.’ Even more to the point is that gauche means the same as maladroit (‘bad right’). In German, linkisch means ‘maladroit.’ Gouache also refers to a school of painting in which paint was piled high on the canvas. It was considered ugly and in bad taste.

In Spanish, too, izquierda (‘left’) has the same unpleasant connotations, including political radicalism, and derecho (‘right’) means ‘law,’ as it does in French. The same is true of the Portuguese words esquierda and derecho.

In no language does the word for right have these unpleasant connotations. The languages seem to have conspired against the left-handed of the world. Everything from can openers to golf clubs is designed for the right-handed. The single exception seems to be the typewriter, the keyboard of which favors the left-handed. Perhaps Christopher Sholes, its inventor, was left-handed.

One suspects there is a sinister plot by the linguists. We can speculate about the reasons for this moral distinction between left and right. The political difference comes from the habit in France and Germany of Communists sitting on the speaker’s left in Parliament, and Fascists sitting on the speaker’s right. Another reason may be that left-handed people were considered peculiar, perhaps victims of some evil force. Until quite recently it was thought best to retrain left-handed people. They often became clumsy as a result. A doctoral dissertation concluded that serious psychological consequences follow from this retraining.5

Clearly, the word left has been dealt a left-handed blow. Is this right?

EPISTOLA {Wesley First}

Norman R. Shapiro had a number of interesting things to say [III, 3], but for me his remarks about bravo were not among them. Shapiro writes, “When an Italian shouts bravo, for example, he isn’t just voicing indiscriminate onomatopoeia; he is using a bona fide adjective. (Hence the feminine, brava, to a deserving diva.)” My problem with that is not only a bit of puzzlement over bravo as onomatopoeia, but also the fear that he is helping to perpetuate a most unfortunate practice.

Bravo comes in two forms. As an adjective, bravo is indeed inflected; male and female were they created. And as an adjective, bravo -a, means, according to Cassell’s, “able, clever, skillful; capable; honest; plucky.”

But this is not the whole story. Bravo also is entered in this fashion: “bravo! inter. Bravo! Fine!” This is immediately followed by “Da Bravo! Courage!” Obviously, in its incarnation as interjection, bravo is not inflected. The divine diva bows to the same bravo as does the towering tenor.

Among American dictionaries, Random House declares, under the entry, bravo: “interj. well done! good!” Webster’s Third does have an entry for brava, which states: “Bravo— used interjectionally in applauding a woman.” The OED Universal edition says: “Bravo” int and sb, 1761 [It. bravo superl bravissimo (also used).] Capital! Well done! Hence, as sb, a cheer.”

To turn to the review of The Phrase-Dropper’s Hand-book, the commentator dropped one phrase all the way: It’s Revenons à nos moutons. One hopes “Revenons á moutons” is not in the book, but rather is a typographical error.

Haven’t we enough problems in our language?

[Wesley First, New York, New York].

The New Orthography

Elln Perkins, San Diego, California

One of the heart-warming scenes of How Green Was My Valley has young Huw, driven by his schoolmaster’s sneering at a mispronunciation, finally erupt: “I do not think it a shame to have read more words than I ever heard pronounced.” An inspiriting moment for those who love language and learning. Consider it also a key to coping with the rapid progress of our loved language toward The English of the Future. Our high school students are pointing the way. For they do not think it a shame to use more words than they have ever seen written. All we need to do is loosen up a few prejudices and follow their lead.

The commonest principle in creative spelling is the phonetic one, of course. Mestup, since that’s what the rules of spelling and punctuation are, has a certain logic, as do froogley (“These Japanese lived very froogley”) and next store (“We lived next store to Joey”). G.B. Shaw himself could not have done much better than skwormed, angches, and Pencil vanea, all created, as are all the new spellings herein, by students. Or perrigraff. For that one we have to scrap our exhilarating mini-lecture on Greek roots, but it never did much for phycology, either. As our young writers would be quick to say, “Ph, ps, Greek, shmeek, you know what they mean.” And if you are willing to discard mere pickiness, you know what taken for granite and scuenting mean, too. Or why not the grand flair of nateral fenoninum? One would swear, if I may quote, that’s the way it supostube.

These wholesome simplifications may arise from a widespread opinion that the language is well enough supplied with fancy forms and spellings. However, disagreement is the stuff of progress; happily, someone out there prefers the gentility of no doubtly, the delicacy of coughen, and the pure flourish, I guess, of laight. There is a taste for the elegant in the old U.S. of A. surprizing le enought.

We come now to what can only be seen as phycological fenoninums. Not being one of those head doctors whose title I can no longer spell (conditioning, accidental or otherwise, being what it is), I can but lay these before you as they came before me. They are exact in every detail of diction and punctuation; I would not trifle with scholarly accuracy in such a matter.

  1. Although our societies are formed by man, he isn’t able to flunksuate with it’s pace.

  2. Everything was fine until one day a man and a lay drove up in a van.

  3. As a catholic priest one spends most of his time teaching, praying, giving sermons, and absorbing sins given out by daily confessors. (This was not the student whose paper included a paragraph on the rituals of whorship.)

And moving ever deeper into the psyche,

  1. The West’s women’s doubles team brought the team back from a four-game deficate.

Perhaps properly trained researchers will get funding for a study of these. Surely they belong not to a teacher but to a shitisatris (sp?).

Well. To end on a positive—even exuberant—note, a whole glorious welling up of creativity exists that cannot really be classified, though by backing off enough one can see it as a kind of simplification—beating the universe to the ultimate entropy. For example, there is the man who had extra income aside from his job because “he was a member of the notor republic.” Not a horrobile mistake, but art in language. And a chairtable is not a piece of furniture but an adjective meaning generous and kindly. A chesser-drawers, on the other hand, is furniture, as is a chester doors, but you would have known that all right, even if I hadaded told you. Tenashoes equals tenershoes; a world of possibilities opens up here. And a stewdress works on an airplane, after she graduwayts from training.

Maybe it’s significant that these alternative spellings developed in Southern California, where free spirits flower like the gorgeous bogangadilia. Let’s hear from the rest of the country. Four cheers for the future and uter caoues!

EPISTOLA {Reinhold Aman}

An addition to John G. Caffrey’s “Menu Barbarisms” [III, 3]: A restaurant near Joplin, Mo. serves “ho-made bread.” As ho is used by prostitutes for ‘whore,’ I am puzzled whether this bread is made at the home of a MoHo. [Reinhold Aman, Waukesha, Wisconsin].

The Encompassing Circle

Arthur J. Morgan, New York, New York

It is one of those ironies which are not infrequent in language that two such disparate, not to say opposed, expressions as Ku Klux Klan and “kike” should share a common derivation. But let us trace them individually.

The vituperative and contemptuous appellation kike, started, as such epithets often do, in a fairly innocuous way. In the last century there were a great many Jewish peddlers and tinkers traveling the byroads and hinterlands of the country. Many of these men were illiterate, at least in English. When called upon to sign his name, being unable to do so, the Jewish peddler often had to “make his mark.”

However, for religious reasons, he would not make a cross, but offered to draw a circle instead. The Yiddish for a circle was keikel, which in time was corrupted to kike, and as often happens with ethnic appellations, deteriorated into a slur when its origin was forgotten. (Cf. gringo, from “Green grow the lilacs, O,” a song that was popular among the American soldiers during the troubles with Mexico. Many other examples could be given.)

Now, how about Ku Klux Klan? Eric Partridge attributes the first part, Kuklux, to a distortion of the Greek kyklos, ‘circle.’ The deliberate distortion, and the use of K’s and x’s were intended to make the name more mysterious and frightening, but it merely meant ‘Circle Clan’ to start.

But that very word kyklos was the origin of the Yiddish keikel. Most Yiddish words come from German, but circle in German is Zirkel or Kreis; this word keikel goes back to the Jewish dialect Yevanic, analogous to Yiddish, except that the vocabulary was Greek, rather than German. Like Yiddish, the written language used Hebrew characters.

In fact, during the long years of the diaspora, the wandering Jews have had a dozen dialects, written in Hebrew letters, but with words derived from the language of their current (or previous) hosts. Thus a book which looks like Hebrew may actually be in Persian, Arabic, Berber, Greek, French or Provencal, Italian or Spanish. The latter, called Ladino, is still spoken and even written, today. It’s a wide, wide circle.

Who Do You Believe?

For those readers who consider “incorrect” grammar indefensible, the first of the following letters provides an interesting (if indefensible) rationale: it is a good example of solecistic (as contrasted with syllogistic) reasoning. The second letter here reproduced expresses a rational approach to the problem, puristic attitudes notwithstanding.

Mrs. Dorrice R. Morrow

Swarthmore, PA November 13, 1973

Dear Mrs. Morrow:

We are aware that your dislike for the interrogative “Who are we pleasing?” is sometimes shared by others. Some people insist that this sentence should read, “Whom are we pleasing?” But the use of the pronoun in an interrogative sentence, as here, needs to be distinguished from the pronoun in “For whom the bell tolls” or “to whom it may concern.”

When “who” is used as an interrogative pronoun, it is unnatural English to use its objective form, even when it is the object of a verb or preposition. Noah Webster said that “Whom did you speak to?” is “hardly English at all” but…“is a corruption, and all the grammars that can be found will not extend the use of the phrase beyond the walls of a college.”

When the word stands before a verb, as in “Who am I trying to please?” the nominative form is preferred. The form “whom” is required when the word follows a preposition (“To whom am I to send the letter?”).

The invariable form “who” in interrogative constructions was found in older and early in modern literary English. Shakespeare used it. Speaking of this, the noted grammarian Curme says, “The use of the nominative who as object is never ambiguous since… ‘who did they meet?’ indicates that who…modifies the verb and cannot be the subject?”

Sincerely yours,

The Editors

Dear Mrs. Morrow: May 29, 1975

Thank you for calling to our attention the misuse of “who-whom” in the Monitor. Unfortunately, this seems to be a fairly common error in today’s world. We do not condone it in any way and try to be alert against it. But we do not always succeed.

We try to uphold the highest standards of proper grammatical usage in the Monitor. Alert readers are of great help in motivating us to maintain our high standards and we appreciate your concern.

Sincerely,

Dewey F Ray

Chief of Copy Desk

The reference to George O. Curme draws one to his two books, Parts of Speech and Accidence, Heath, 1935, and Syntax, Heath, 1931: the latter contains the quotation cited by “The Editors” of The Christian Science Monitor. It is on page 101 in a section that concludes with the comment, “In general, however, the use of who for whom is receding in all functions in the literary language.” Such usage is also called “careless language” by Curme.

A further comment appears in Parts of Speech: ‘I don’t know who (instead of whom) he plays with.’

The relative pronoun always has the case form required by the construction of the clause in which it stands…. In [‘I will go with whoever I like,’ who is the object of the preposition with. We should withstand the strong drift here toward the modern forms and use the more expressive older ones.

[pp. 166-7]

As we have in general abandoned the use of the old inflectional endings in favor of modern means of expression, there is also here in colloquial speech a strong tendency to employ modern forms—…: ‘Who (instead of whom) did you meet?’ ‘Who did you give it to?’ …In choice language the tendency is to withstand the very strong drift here toward the modern forms and use the more expressive older ones. [p. 171]

There is no mistaking how Curme expressed himself, and the quotation in The Editors’ letter is an explanation of why who replaces whom in certain constructions: it certainly cannot be construed as having received the grammarian’s approval.

[Incidentally, VERBATIM is planning to publish a reprint of Curme’s two books, one of the best and most complete reference grammars of contemporary English, rife with examples from literature. It would help greatly if readers could provide us with some indication of their possible interest in having such works in their libraries. Both books have been out of print since 1963.—Editor]

Laws

Gary S. Felton, Los Angeles, California

Agnes Allen’s Law.6 Almost anything is easier to get into than out of.

The Bougerre Factor7 [pronounced “bugger”; same as The Soothing Factor]. Characterized as changing the equation to fit the universe (mathematically similar to The Damping Factor) and has the characteristic of dropping the subject under discussion to zero importance.

Bromiley’s Maxim.7 What’s not worth doing is not worth doing well.

Diddle Coefficient.7 Characterized as changing things so that universe and equation appear to fit without requiring a change in either (combination of The Bougerre Factor and Finagle’s Constant).

Fetridge’s Law.8 Important things that are supposed to happen do not happen, especially when people are looking or, conversely, things that are supposed to not happen do happen, expecially when people are looking.

Finagle’s Constant.7 A multiplier of the zero-order term; may be characterized as changing the universe to fit the equation.

First Law of Experiment.7 In any field of scientific endeavor, anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

Fourth Law of Experiment.7 If in any problem you find yourself doing an immense amount of work, the answer can be obtained by simple inspection.

Gumperson’s Law.8 The vacant parking spaces are always on the other side of the street; you can throw a stubbed-out cigarette from a car window and start a raging forest fire, whereas it will take an hour and a half to get a blaze going in a fireplace loaded with dry wood and sloshed with kerosene; grass seed planted in rich soil, fertilized and kept moist, will not grow, although a few seeds may blow onto the blacktop driveway, settle into a crack, and there take root and flourish.

Murphy’s Law.9, 6 If anything can possibly go wrong with a design, test, or experiment, it will.

Nichols’ First Law.6 Success occurs when preparation meets opportunity.

Nichols’ Fourth Law.6 Avoid an action with any unacceptable outcome.

Parkinson’s Law.10 The idea that work expands to fill the time allotted to it, as by a worker’s slowing his pace or embellishing a task so that he does not finish it ahead of schedule.

The Peter Principle.11 In a hierachy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence.

Rule of the Way Out.7 Always leave room, when writing a report, to add an explanation if it does not work.

Second Law of Experiment.7 It is usually impractical to worry beforehand about interference; if you have none, someone will supply some for you.

Second Law of Experimental Psychology.12 Training takes time, whether or not anything is learned.

Smith’s Law.6 One ought to finish what one starts.

Colonel Stapp’s Ironical Paradox.6 The universal aptitude for ineptitude makes any human accomplishment an incredible miracle.

Third Law of Experiment.7 In any collection of data, the figures that are obviously correct, beyond all need of checking, contain the errors.

Third Law of Experimental Psychology.12 Any well-trained experimental animal, in a controlled environment and subject to controlled stimulation, will do as he damned well pleases.

Zahner’s Law.6 If you play with anything long enough, it will break.

Some of these laws also have corollaries. For a detailed look at them please check the references. I am eager to hear from any readers who know more of these laws inasmuch as any compilation of exceptions to the rule will always be incomplete (Felton’s Law).

Exceptions to the Rule

Gary S. Felton, Los Angeles, California

All of us have grown up learning countless rules or laws of nature and the universe. We learn these rules or laws well and find eventually that most of the time they hold up and operate as expected. Nevertheless, as with most things in life, people encounter inconsistency about rules or laws and the domains they refer to. Often there is some exception.

One way offered to deal with, allow for, or rationalize the exception is to state that there are some exceptions and then, where applicable, learn them, understand them, and accept them. Another approach is to continue to analyze exceptions and “fit” them into the rules. Some people are more earthy about such matters, however, and treat with levity the fact that life is not always consistent and existence is not always predictable.

One of the outgrowths of this latter approach is a number of pseudo-scientific statutes or laws. These statements incorporate known experience with generalized expectancies about existence and give us something to laugh about at ourselves and our universe. Such “laws,” as they generally are referred to, usually are named after their discoverer. In giving us a fascinating and amusing look at ourselves, the laws relate to several domains of our day-to-day experience, particularly scientific research and the study of behavior, and are presented below for interested readers.

More -ine Adjectives

Jay Dillon, Gladstone, New Jersey

In her piece, “Animal-Like [sic] Adjectives” [III, 3], Miss L.T. Jewell not only presents a corpus of some thirty-five “animaline” adjectives, but cites also several amusing examples of their journalistic use with reference to human behavior, features, and affairs. While I am unable quite so readily to contribute to her stock of amusing usage, I have managed in a few hours’ time to more than quadruple her corpus.

Forty-two of my new-found animaline adjectives refer to birds:

alaudine skylark W13

alcine auk W

alcidine auk, puffin, ect. W

alectoridine crane, rail, ect. W

anatine duck 1862-1893 OW

avine bird 1881 OW

buteonine buzzard 1865-1874 OW

charadrine plover W

ciconi(i)ne stork 1874-1893 OW

columbine dove c1386-1835 OW

corvine crow 1656-1886 OW

cuculine cuckoo OW

cygnine swan W

dacelonine kingfisher W

didine dodo 1885 OW

falconine falcon OW

fringilline finch 1874-1893 OW

fulicine coot W

fuliguline eider, etc. 1862-1893 OW

galline domestic fowl 1868-1895 OW

garruline jay, magpie W

hirundine swallow 1831 OW

ibidine ibis 1875 OW

laridine gull, etc. 1877 OW

larine gull OW

meleagrine turkey W

milvine kite 1727-1842 OW

nestorine kea, kaka W

phasianine pheasant 1868 OW

picine woodpecker 1890 OW

psittacine parrot 1888-1895 OW

ralline rail 1885-1892 OW

sittine nuthatch 1829 OW

strigine owl W

sturnine swallow 1809 OW

tetraonine grouse, ptarmigan, etc. 1868-1885 OW

trochilidine humming-bird 1885 OW

tringine sandpiper OW

turdine thrush 1890 OW

trochiline humming-bird W

volucrine bird 1881 OW

vulturine vulture 1647-1886 OW

Fully fifty-four of my discoveries have to do with land animals:

alcine elk, moose W

aspine asp 1644 O

dasyurine dasyure (1839-47) OW

antelopine antelope W

bisontine bison 1885- 1887 OsW

bubaline hartebeest 1827-1907 OsW

caballine horse 1430-1878 OW

cameline camel 1865 OW

capreoline roe 1835 OW

cricetine hamster W

crocodiline crocodile (1730-6)-1755 OW

crotaline rattlesnake 1865-1882 OW

didelphine opossum 1847 OW

gazelline gazelle OW

giraffine giraffe 1901 OsW

hippopotamine hippo-potamus 1883 OW

hippotigrine zebra W hirudine leech W

hominine man 1883-1959 OOsW

hyenine hyaena (1884-5) OW

hylobatine gibbon OW

hystricine porcupine 1883 OW

leporine hare 1656-1877 OW

lumbricine earthworm 1890 OW

rhinocerine rhinoceros 1879 OW

lyncine lynx W

rucervine Indian swamp deer, etc. 1881-1891 OW

macropine kangaroo 1888-1891 O

macropodine kangaroo, wallaby, etc. W

megacerine (extinct) Irish elk W

megacerotine (extinct) Irish elk 1884 OW

megatherine (extinct) American sloth W

mephitine skunk W

moschine musk deer OW

musteline weasel, mink 1656-1891 OW

noctilionine bat 1844 O

ovibovinine musk ox OW

pantherine panther 1656-1890 OW

pardine leopard (1859-1) OW

procyonine raccoon, kinkajou, etc. 1883 OW

pteropine bat 1844 O

rangiferine caribou, reindeer, etc. OW

rupicaprine chamois 1827-1891 OW

salamandrine salamander 1712-1888 OW

sciurine squirrel 1842-1883 OW

sabelline sable 1888-1891 O

soricine shrew 1781-c1878 OW

talpine mole 1860 OW

tapirine tapir 1891 OW

tigrine tiger 1656-1908 OW

tolypeutine armadillo OW

vaccine cow 1799-1881 OW

vituline calf 1656-1870 OW

viverrine civet 1800-1885 OW

zebrine zebra OW

Insects account for six more such terms:

acarine mite 1828 OW

anopheline mosquito 1920-1964 Os

bombycine silkworm W

culicine mosquito 1921-1964 OsW

formicine ant 1885 OW

vespine wasp 1843-1884 OW

Marine beasties supply ten animalines:

cyprine carp 1828 O

delphine dolphin 1828 OW

delphinine dolphin O

homarine lobster 1880 OW

manatine manatee OW

megapterine hump-back whale W

octopine octopus 1914 OsW

ostracine oyster 1890 OW

phocaenine porpoise 1890 OW

phocine seal 1846 OW

Finally, beasts of the mind occupy the last three places in my extended corpus:

basilicine basilisk 1855 OW

sphingine sphinx 1961 OW

sphinxine sphinx 1845

I cannot pretend that the above lists are complete, or even nearly so; the relative ease with which they were compiled suggests that there are at least one or two hundred more such terms lurking about, waiting to be unearthed by someone with more time and interest than I can devote.

Miss Jewell’s identification of -ine as “Middle English, [meaning] ‘pertaining to’ ” mystifies me. For it seems to me perfectly obvious, and, is readily confirmed, that English adjectival -ine simply represents Latin -inus, and perhaps occasionally French -in. Moreover, the suffix appears not to have been productive in English before Elizabethan times. Thus, -ine is not Middle English at all, although it is collaterally related to Middle English -en ‘made of—, (brasen, golden, lether(e)n, wollen), by way of Indo-European **-ino-, Common Germanic **-ina-, and Old English -en (braesen, gylden, leδren, wyllen).

Finally, it must be remembered that there is no consistent morphological difference whatever between the animaline adjectives and such other adjectives as feminine, genuine, marine, and sanguine. The distinction is purely a semantic one, and it is not always easy to demarcate the animaline from the other adjectives in -ine; does hominine belong in the above list of land animals? If Miss Jewell includes both caprine and hircine, ought we to add, then, masculine and feminine? Ought adjectives in -ine for fabulous beasts to be included? What of didine, megacerine, and other adjectives for animals prehistoric, extinct, or both? Ought I to have included sylphine and nymphine? Miss Jewell’s animal-like and my animaline have thus far meant whatever she and I have wanted them to mean; should these words ever be used again, they will mean whatever they are intended to mean, or are taken to mean.

EPISTOLA {Kelsie Harder}

The reason that I don’t subscribe to The American Scholar is precisely what you say. I haven’t returned my Phi Beta Kappa key, but I have been infuriated by some of the articles, which I stingily glance over in the local library. I doubt, however, that your “Permissions” will go anywhere in face of the present paranoia in the public’s public.

Other less important comments: Off and on, mostly off, I have made comments about my own name in ANS Bulletins. Schulz should not be so concerned. He should feel elated. My mail, as you can suspect, comes much the same way: Ms., Mrs., Mr., and Miss, and sometimes just zero. It gets me on all kinds of mailing lists, all of which I thoroughly (no counter word) enjoy. I have been involved in Women’s Lib groups—by mail—(no pun), gay groups, and probably others because of the name. One book on names gives the full etymology of my name. The editor then acknowledges that I sent him the information, meanwhile thanking graciously Miss Kelsie B. Harder, Executive Secretary of the American Name Society. I had neglected to let him know. I got a page and a half in the introduction. Another good story corresponds with Schulz’s, although with a different twist. When I was a student at Vanderbilt, a professor called the roll, Miss Harder. I replied, “Mrs. Harder,” for I was married at the time. He never called my name again, just skipped it when he called the daily roll. Furthermore, he gave me an “A.” James Dickey was in that class. More on Dickey some other time!

[Kelsie Harder, The State University College at Potsdam].

Notes from the Compound World

Caryl Johnston, Boston, Massachusetts

According to the famed mytho-grammarian Maxim Mütter, compounds (snow-white, rose-red, upsy-daisy, shaggy-dog, etc.) are the harbingers of a new epoch of consciousness. In contrast to the modern uncompoundish or analytical tendency, they herald a new power or faculty which Mütter termed “magistic.” (The verb, to magist, means ‘to conceive, or to engage in the labor of conceiving, the gist of something in an image.') Linguistic philosophers, who are the kind of people who like to separate their words into distinct and clearly-defined operable units (as, for example, in the assertion that there are two apples in this cart, and three oranges in that cart) simply balk at the 2 + 2 = 5 mentality of most compounds. (Take, for example, the notorious query: “What is the meaning of applecart in the statement: ‘Don’t upset the applecart’?”) According to Mütter, it (the noncompoundite intellect) “is unable to split in one lightning-stroke (blitzkrieg) the complex welter (plexwelt) of ideas, associations, and images which compounds, denoting permanent or transient actions, qualities, or states, represent.” The mind is thus hurled, willy-nilly, into the very jaws of duality, and forced to entertain simultaneously two dissimilarlycompatible concepts, which, however, still fall far short of the intended meaning. It is precisely in this quality of falling-farshortedness that compounds are so peculiarly noted, and for which Mütter reserved only words of highest praise.

Some of Mütter’s conclusions have been slightly modified over the past century, due to the discovery of compounds involving trinitarian, quadripartite, cinquefoil, or even sextuplet conceptions. Dr. Algol Blauhaus, a student of magnitudes, has claimed to discern infinite digression in the series of conceptions, and deals only with magistian infinity-factors, a branch of the science which is still, so to speak, in its infancy. In any case, despite the constant unearthing of new data, the basic compost made by Mütter has sprouted what in this century has come to be known as the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Compounds. The name can be somewhat misleading, as Society members seek not only to preserve ancient compounds, but also avidly promote the science of magistics. They also openly encourage the assimilation of infinite digressions.

This avowed and open activity on the part of SPAC members is watched with panic on both sides of the Atlantic by language technicians and computer specialists, people who are somewhat derisively referred to by Society members as compeeps. (Panic: ealu-scerwen, ‘terror as at the loss of ale.') It has been pointed out by members of the pro-compound party that a person who panics at the proliferation of compounds is probably a nincompoop ‘non compos mentis’ if not niçakeçaçmaçrunakhas, ‘he who has short hair, nails, and beard.’ The compeeps, in turn, call the compounders kunophron, ‘having the soul of a dog,’ and boukephalos, ‘with the forehead of an ox’ (Front-de-Boeuf).

Debates on both sides of the compound fence are aired over most stations, and compound-slung epithets frequently jam the ears of the listening public. From Hoboken (‘smoke pipe’) to Derby (‘village of wild beasts’), from Punjab (‘five rivers’) to Algonquin (‘those on the other side of the river’), compound-keepers have been spotted, trapping and talontagging possible topics before mating them. Often demonstrations on behalf of compounds are held, as the one which we recently attended in Massachusetts, ‘blue hills.’ (Incidentally, the five brothers Padavas were there, ‘having their mother for sixth (companion)'—matri-śaśtha.) Professor Leichen-Bleich (‘pale as a corpse’) spoke for the computer people, calling the compounders chairekakoi, ‘those who rejoice in evil,’ and ethelorhetoroi, ‘pretending to be orators.’ He also denounced the whole compounded controversy as being nothing more than an insipid quibble over piqsirpoq and qininqsug, ‘drifting snow’ and ‘snowdrift.’ The noted Boston Brahmaness Nihçvasa-parama, ‘sighing a great deal,’ or ‘regarding sighs as the supreme thing,’ countered appropriately for the Archaic Society by discoursing upon the dekeeping-childlightsomeness which certain compounds have, the ambologera, ‘who puts off old age.’ She also spoke feelingly for the kind of compound which has the dakethumos, ‘that bites into the heart.’ Professor Leichen-Bleich, attempting to pun upon Ms. Nihçvasa-parama’s multisibilance, reminded her of the Spartan woman ‘who shows her thighs’ (phainomeris); and, as for biting into the heart, he’d just as soon be ‘wounded by a thorn’ (akanthoplex). But Herman Stockfest (‘firm as a stump’), snorting visibly, called the spokesman for the compeeps an old fly-flapper (proboscis) and a shuffle-foot who spoke nothing but fatback, a composite which seems to have carried the day as no one could come up with an immediate Greek, Latin, or Sanskrit equivalent.

Compounders and polysemiasts are urged to send samples of their work to the Archaic Society, which is always glad to supply interested members of the public with compounds for new or old diseases, states, conditions, or habits of mind. Cremnophobics, for example, afraid of falling from cliffs, should be happy to know they no longer need to be classed with ordinary acrophobics. Those with an excessive fear of holy places should jot down hagiophobia, and at long last ‘fear of Friday the 13th’ can take its place in our growing family of componderables as the insidious triskaidekaphobia. And finally, those of you who, like the compeeps, cringe at compounds, can always take comfort that floccinaucinihilipilification is just the word you’ve been waiting for.

EPISTOLA {J.F. O’Connor}

I can contribute two additional Menu Barbarisms to those listed by Dr. McCaffrey in the December 1976 issue. Both were perpetrated by restaurants in the Washington, D.C., area: Tornado Rossini; Steak Joan of Arc.

[J.F. O’Connor, Silver Spring, Maryland].

EPISTOLA {C.A. Peddle}

Re: “ ‘Ouch!’ he said in Japanese” [III, 1]. I dunno about you academic types at all. The only time I might use “ouch” would be in reaction to a minor irritation, such as a flu shot. I certainly do not consider the word to convey “vocalized pain itself….” Were I to hit my finger or thumb with a hammer while trying to drive a nail into wood, I would use any of a number of expletives such as s—, f*** or even AAAAAHHooouuuww! But I’m damned if I’d ever consider “ouch.”

[C.A. Peddle, San Francisco, California].

Self-referring Words

Alexander J. Pollock, Northbrook, Illinois

Self-referring sentences, notably the paradoxical “This sentence is false,” are sufficiently familiar. But the notion of self-referring words was new, at least for me, when it occurred to me the other day while I was waiting for an elevator. Self-referring words denote or describe themselves—for example, the word “word” is itself a word, and the word “useful” is itself useful.

I was already intrigued by these words by the time we were riding up on the elevator. Other readers of VERBATIM may wish to participate in answering three questions which self-referring words raise:

1. How many of them are there?

2. Can we formulate general principles about them?

3. How widely are the categories “self-referring” and “nonself-referring” applicable?

Having posed the questions, any logophile of spirit must attempt answers.

It is obvious that the vast majority of words are not self-referring. My current list follows:

1. Nouns

THE WORD: IS ITSELF A:
a. word word
b. term term
c. noun noun
d. substantive substantive
e. symbol symbol
f. sign sign

2. Adjectives

THE WORD: IS ITSELF:
a. useful useful
b. English English
c. français (etc.) français (etc.)
d. acceptable acceptable
e. unobjectionable unobjectionable
f. intelligible intelligible
g. meaningful meaningful
h. understandable understandable
i. thinkable thinkable
j. sesquipedalian sesquipedalian
k. ordinary ordinary
l. analyzable analyzable
m. inflected inflected
n. polysyllabic polysyllabic
o. definable definable
p. expressible expressible
q. printable printable
r. writable writable
s. pronounceable pronounceable
t. speakable speakable
u. utterable utterable
v. learnable learnable
w. teachable teachable

I have so far three principles:

1. Only nouns and adjectives can be self-referring. This is because words themselves are objects in the cultural world; thus they can only be referred to by names or descriptions of objects, i.e., by nouns or adjectives.

2. Self-referring nouns are always grammatical or linguistic terms applicable to nouns. This appears to be the only way for a noun to name itself.

3. Self-referring adjectives have a wider range of meaning than self-referring nouns, because they can express many aspects of words (than which nothing has more aspects). The self-referring adjectives listed above bring out, respectively, that words are:

a. practical

b-c. in some language or other (This class of self-referring adjectives is represented in each language I am familiar with by one word—namely the adjective which describes words, including itself, as being in that language. As an aside, I wonder if, of the few thousand languages there are, any is so unselfconscious as not to have a word for itself, as one language among many?)

d-e. socio-cultural f-i. cognitive j-k. stylistic l-n. structured o. semantic p-u. variously expressible v-w. pedagogical

My question here is whether, in principle, every noun and adjective can be unambiguously classed as either self-referring or nonself-referring.

It is clear that there might be disagreements about the classification of given words, for reasons such as:

1. Different senses of the same word—for example, sign in the sense of ‘an indication of meaning’ is self-referring; in the sense of ‘an inscribed board used for advertising’ it is not.

2. Differences in taste or opinion—some people might think interesting interesting and euphonious euphonious; other people might not.

3. Differences in theory—some people might speculate that words in some sense exist or are things, thus making existing and thing self-referring; others’ speculations might reach opposite conclusions.

Such disagreements are not objections in principle, however. In principle, we can sort out the senses of words, and settle or at least understand and handle differences of opinion, taste and theory. But is there a word which cannot in principle be assigned to one of our two categories?

It seems to me there is one: the word nonself-referring. If nonself-referring is nonself-referring, it obviously describes itself and thus must be self-referring. If, on the other hand, nonself-referring is self-referring, then it must describe itself and be nonself-referring. So the self-referring word can lead us to paradox equally as well as the self-referring sentence.

Doubtless, as journal articles say, further research of this intriguing subject is needed. And the inviting field of the self-referring phrase lies all untrodden before us.

EPISTOLA {Laurence J. Davidson}

I was delighted to read Hear Finish Before (Pause) You?, since one rarely comes across articles on sign language that deal with Ameslan rather than Signed English. (In fact, one all too rarely comes across articles on sign language at all.) Ms. Brown, rightly stressing the fact that Ameslan has a grammar of its own, uses some of the most salient differences between its syntax and English syntax to illustrate this fact: “it lacks articles, and plurals and verb tenses are supplied either through context or by the addition of the word ‘finish’.”

Readers might be interested to know that Ameslan happens to show many remarkable similarities to Chinese in its syntax: e.g., that identical quotation applies to Chinese! I have all too often heard the naive claim that neither Ameslan nor Chinese “has a grammar.” In fact, both have quite intricate grammars; what they don’t have is word-endings, which the Latin-minded often think of as the only kind of grammar. I wish, however, that Ms. Brown hadn’t devoted quite so much attention to idiomatic expressions (real or apparent), since idioms tend to obscure the grammar of a language rather than to illuminate it.

I have two other minor criticisms of Ms. Brown’s article. First, her folk-etymologies of the signs for male and female (“long ago someone must have decided men have minds while women have mouths”) are not borne out by researchers in the field. The standard etymologies are reflected in Lottie Riekehof’s excellent lexicon, Talk to the Deaf, and in Harry Hoemann’s thorough and thoughtful text, The American Sign Language: according to Hoemann, “the male gender marker was based on the custom of tipping a hat, and the region of the forehead serves as the gender marker for male kinship signs. The female gender marker was derived from the bonnet strings tied under the chin.” A different etymology occurs in William C. Stokoe’s pioneering Dictionary of American Sign Language. Stokoe, the recognized authority on the linguistics of Ameslan, writes of the sign for “female”: “Epée himself states that it was selected because of the hanging curls prominent in the coiffures of the day. Curiously enough there is a traditional ASL etymology too which makes the sign an indication of the ladies’ bonnet strings.” [Epée, an eighteenth-century French abbé, is the father of the modern American and French sign languages.]

Finally, Ms. Brown leaves the reader with the unfortunately inaccurate impression that sign-language classes and textbooks all teach Ameslan. Would that that were so, but in fact a great many of them teach Signed English. The signs are the same, but the grammar of Signed English is English grammar, often complete with English suffixes and prefixes. There’s nothing wrong with Signed English if that is what you really want to study, but you should know just what you’re getting before you enroll in a class or buy a textbook. If you want Ameslan, be sure you’re really being given Ameslan.

My criticisms, however, are definitely outweighed by the positive aspects of the article. (In fact, they are even outweighed by the mere fact that an article appeared on Ameslan in the first place.) Perhaps the best thing about Ms. Brown’s article is the simple fact that she makes it clear that Ameslan is indeed a language, not just a lexicon of signs.

I was not so delighted to read your own “Obiter Dicta,” in which you display a surprising ignorance (or willful disregard?) of the meaning of the term “affirmative action.” You say that “what is probably intended is the sense of assertive action; in other words, ‘We don’t shilly-shally when asked for a decision on an application.’ ” But this is not what is intended at all! It isn’t even close: the term really means that the employer will affirmatively (= “assertively,” as you put it) seek out women and members of minority groups. Not only will he give equal opportunity to those who show up applying for a job, but he will also assertively try to get applications from types of people who do not usually apply. The term “affirmative action” arose fairly recently in response to those companies that claimed that the lack of women, handicapped persons, blacks, etc., in high positions was due to the fact that very few even applied for those positions. “Affirmative action” companies are now accepting an obligation to do something about this situation, to do something affirmative rather than the simple negative action of not discriminating against qualified minority applicants.

The quality of VERBATIM is remarkably consistently high, an occasional lapsus like the squib on “affirmative action” notwithstanding. I look forward to each issue. Keep them coming, and how about some more articles on sign language and some articles on animal communication, child language, and other psycholinguistic topics? [Laurence J. Davidson, Cambridge, Massachusetts]

EPISTOLA {Margherita S. Smith}

Where have you been? Affirmative action is a phrase that has been around for some time. It means, “We not only believe in equal opportunity; we act to affirm that belief by seeking out and giving preference to people from groups that have suffered from lack of equal opportunity.”

Don’t knock it. [Margherita S. Smith, Annandale, Virginia].

EPISTOLA {Arthur J. Morgan}

“Affirmative action” is required of companies which hold Government contracts, or subcontracts.

It is Government English for the requirement that the company not sit back waiting for members of ethnic minorities, handicapped persons or women to apply for jobs, but actively engage in recruiting such prospective employees.

Incidentally, this is sometimes described as “seeking employees from minority groups,” or even “seeking minorities,” despite the fact that, as any census will show, women constitute a majority.

To continue with the fairer (though occasionally more unfair) sex, Mr. Norman R. Shapiro parenthesizes, “Hence the feminine, brava, to a deserving diva.”

Wrong.

To a deserving diva, for a superlative performance, I might shout, “Bravo!” This is an exclamation and is uninflected. The boys in the balcony, whether amateur fans or professional claque, who shout “Brava!” may be doing the lady an injustice, since it refers to the diva, not her performance, and merely makes a statement that she is good, honest, or possibly even brave. (To be up on that stage?) [Arthur J. Morgan, New York, New York].

As readers may be able to tell, quite a few people have written to comment on the brief article about affirmative action. It is important that the record be set straight; equally important is the point that the words affirmative + action, in juxtaposition, mean only what readers (and the government and employers) say they mean by virtue of conventionalized jargon. Unfortunately, the convention had not yet reached VERBATIM. The other phrase often appearing in want ads, “We are an equal-opportunity employer,” seems to have no stigma and to state a position more clearly. Any further comment would be social and not linguistic.

—Editor

Mail Lib-Rejoinder

Claire K. Schultz, Line Lexington, Pennsylvania

Because of the similarity of names, a friend sent me a copy of Clair Schulz’s “Mail Lib” [III, 4].

I can relate easily to his feelings because, generally, all of the same things have happened to me in reverse. Confusion on the part of others about one’s sex is particularly difficult during the formative years, when self-identification is yet to be achieved. However, the effects of bisexual names can affect even one’s descendants. I remember my children’s disappointment when I received a letter from President Truman, which they wanted to show off at school, but no one would believe that Mr. Clair Schultz was their mother!

My purpose in responding is to focus on another aspect of mail lib-that taken with one’s address. Fortunately, these liberties are corrected to some extent if one lives in a rural situation.

The addresses below, reproduced from envelopes, show how the simple address in the byline above is misunderstood, misspelled and adorned, and how the mail gets delivered in spite of a myriad of variations. There are many more examples than can be printed here—I have enclosed only some of them, to demonstrate the exercise of communication, on a day-to-day basis.

Prof. C.K. Schultz
Line Lexington
PHILADELPHIA
USA

Mrs. SCHUTZENBER- \
GER C.K.\
SCHULTZ\
Hilltown Piks

Mr. and Mrs. Schultz
Metropolitan Museum
of Art
Line Lexington,
Pennsylvania

LINE LEXINGTON\
(Pennsylvania) U.S.A.\
Mrs. C.K. Schultz\
Line Pa 18932

Mrs. SCHULTZ \
Milltown Pike\
Line Lexington,\
Pennsylvania (U.S.A.)

Mr. Claire K. Schultz\
Line St\
Lexington, Pa

Mrs. Clair Schutz\
Line Washington,\
Pennsylvania, 18932

Mrs. Claire K. Schultz
Little Twon Line
Lexington, Pennsylvania

Mr. C. Schultz
Lyon Lexington,
Pennsylvania

Miss Claire Schultz\
Libre(?)\
Lexington, Pennsylvania

Mr. Claire K. Schultz \
Line Lexington Pa.\
Biology\
York co. Pennsylvania

Mr. Schultz
Hilltown Pike
Lima-Lexington, Pa.

“Ormonyms”

Ormly Gumfudgin, La Crescenta, California

Being a columnist of little note nor long remembrance, I’ve used my column as a vehicle to play with semantic oddities and explore the possibilities of various word combinations; mostly in a semi-humorous vein. What I’m saying is that nobody has complained—so far, anyway.

Among the first items I developed was the “profundrum,” a word I created to encompass various statements I’ve developed (and collected) to make the reader think a little more than usual. A few random examples are:

Happiness is no laughing matter.

Anything worth doing is worth doing.

Why not take your mother-in-law out to the next swap\ meet and see what you can get for her?

He who laughs, lasts.

The darker the light, the darker the dark.

People never go there anymore; it’s too crowded.

In the meantime, I’ve graduated to what I term “ormonyms” because I didn’t know what they were. I sent some to Mr. Urdang who claims they are “junctures” but he hasn’t convinced me on this as yet. However, I have to give his comments serious consideration because he really knows more about this semantic business than I do.

The main purpose of this article is to get some more comments concerning this semantic exercise from our learned brethren. My main rule is that they read differently but sound the same. It would be most interesting to see if anyone else is creating/saving such semantic oddities—and what they may have come up with.

Here are some examples I’ve created—with a few which have been contributed by my readers:

The stuffy nose can lead to problems.
The stuff he knows can lead to problems.

Where is the spice center?
Where is the spy center?

Are you aware of the words you have just uttered?
Are you aware of the words you have just stuttered?

That’s the biggest hurdle I’ve ever seen!
That’s the biggest turtle I’ve ever seen!

I’m taking a nice cold shower.
I’m taking an ice cold shower.

He would kill Hamlet for that reason.
He would kill Hamlet for that treason.

You’d be surprised to see a mint spy in your bank.
You’d be surprised to see a mince pie in your bank.

Some others I’ve seen…
Some mothers I’ve seen…

Here are a couple of examples which do not qualify:

Reading in the library is sometimes allowed.
Reading in the library is sometimes aloud.

A politician’s fate often hangs in a delegate balance.
A politician’s fate often hangs in a delicate balance.

My reason they don’t qualify is because they are too easy. It’s using two words that sound the same or similar.

Mr. Urdang sent me an example of junctures which was the sound of “white shoes”and “why choose.” I tried to put these into a duplicate sentence to qualify them for an ormonym. I haven’t made a rule about punctuation as yet so I tried to make a sentence out of them. A bit awkward, but here’s how it worked out:

White shoes; the trademark of Pat Boone.
Why choose the trademark of Pat Boone.

Maybe what I’m doing is taking junctures and making a sentence with them and that’s what an ormonym really is. Anyway, it’s fun and maybe it serves to crack a smile here and there; if so, it’s worth it.

I’d appreciate any input; pro, con or whatever is in between. And maybe we need a word for that—or is there one already?

EPISTOLA {Steve Hicks}

In my article, “That Dirty Bird,” I have mentioned my discovery that shitepoke first appeared in print in the 1775 First Book of the American Chronicles of the Times, antedating the OED’s single citation of ca. 1850. In subsequent research, it turns out that my “discovery” was itself antedated by Mitford M. Mathews in his Dictionary of Americanisms. Mathews cites The First Book of the American Chronicles of the Times as the first printed appearance of the term shitepoke. My “discovery,” then, is due to nothing but incomplete scholarship!

I’m sure other readers of VERBATIM have already discovered this error, so let me apologize for my faulty and misleading reference. [Steve Hicks, Lawrence, Kansas].

EPISTOLA {Norman R. Shapiro}

In his article, “That Dirty Bird,” on the onomastic migrations of the shitepoke [III, 3], Steven R. Hicks makes passing reference to the intriguing word shyster, an American colloquialism dating from at least as early as 1846 (see Mitford Mathews, Americanisms, 1966). Like Mr. Hicks, I have always taken for granted that it derives from the German Scheiss, ‘shit,’ (despite other esoteric possibilities put forth by Mencken). Not, however, via Scheisser, as he assumes along with Partridge and others, but rather from an oral form scheiss-ster, by analogy with so many nouns in which the venerable suffix -ster originally implied contempt. (Needless to say, it no longer always does so: witness youngster, roadster, songster, and scores of others.) Partridge supposes a transmission from German through Yiddish. This is, I think, a debatable suggestion, since the usual Yiddish word for the substance in question is drek, not scheiss (which, if used at all, would very likely have undergone a standard vocalic shift—moved its vowels, so to speak—and been pronounced “shayss,” hence an unlikely forebear of shyster).

But scatymological considerations aside, readers may be interested in another proposed derivation, found in Farmer and Henley’s Slang and Its Analogues (1890-1904). This invaluable volume, reprinted by the Arno Press in 1970, offers the following citation:

1. DE VERE, Americanisms,… This is the SHYSTER … Ill-reputed men [who] offer their services to the new-comer, compel him to pay a fee in advance, and then—do nothing. On the contrary, they fight SHY of him, and hence they have obtained their name.

However logical this early etymology, partisans of Scheiss will probably not be budged.

At the other end of the alimentary canal, John G. Caffrey, in the same issue, calls attention to the phenomenon of what he terms the “dropped d” in names of foods and dishes (chop sirloin, et al.). Many common examples might be added to his list. Foremost among them, ice coffee, ice tea, and especially ice cream. The OED Supplement documents this last apocopated form in a passage from 1744, decades before Dolley Madison introduced the White House to her dessert. The original, iced cream, is attested as early as 1688. Coincidentally, cream also provides a recent exmaple of what can be dubbed an “added d.” Some dairy food companies have lately taken to calling their product soured cream, apparently in an effort to destigmatize it somehow by giving the impression that it has been “soured” intentionally and that it hasn’t just turned “sour” through age or neglect.[Norman R. Shapiro, Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut]

EPISTOLA {Thomas Daniel}

Mr. Pete Chappars was apparently misinformed about the special meaning of to signify amongst blacks [III, 3] by what must have been inarticulate informants.

This peculair meaning of to signify (not confined solely to any one part of the country, I might add) is to make an oblique hint or remark, an indirect intimation or an insinuation. In short, innuendo.

From time to time popular music of all sorts filters down to some of us lovers of the classics. One such occurrence was the 1965 recording of Wilson Pickett’s “Mustang Sally.” If memory serves me right, here is a part of the lyric for Mr. Chappars’ edification:

I bought you a brand new Mustang, a 1965.
Now you come around signifying, woman.
You don’t want to let me ride.

[Thomas Daniel, Warren, Ohio]

EPISTOLA {Vera C. V. Karger}

Years ago a black man I knew well finally objected, one day, to my “signifying.” I asked what that meant. I was told that this word described the subtle, yet pointed way in which I verbally probed to uncover whether he had done a particular thing or had been in a particular place. In plain English, had he been with another woman. It also described the case in which I let it be known very indirectly, by what I said, that there was a piece of information I had that he might have preferred I hadn’t.

My probing had not been direct, as was the discussion you described going on in the parking lot. I understood that directness was definitely not a quality of signifying! Rather, it is that idle, spoken-yet-unspoken, semi-hidden signaling that is thought to be especially well cultivated by women. It avoids direct confrontation.

Incidentally, it is not unusual for blacks to protect important parts of their language from knowledge by the whites, so you may have been deliberately misled. Too bad, because black language has a rich history. But after all, it is a way to remain on guard and retain privacy in a still hostile environment. [Vera C. V. Karger, Stamford, Connecticut]

Internet Archive copy of this issue

  1. I was able to inspect the manuscript (Harley 3362), and here acknowledge the kindness of the staff of the Students Room of the British Library in providing access as well as the marvelous services and facilities for study which make it such a pleasure to work there. ↩︎

  2. Reliquiae Antiquae Vol. I, p. 91. ↩︎

  3. A cipher very similar to this occurs in B.M. MS. Sloane 351, fol. 15, from which Wright prints it (op. cit. Vol. II, p. 15). Wright says this MS. also is “of the fifteenth century.” ↩︎

  4. The definitive history of the obscenity symbol, including its etymology, is now being worked out by several scholars, notably Allen Walker Read. It may well be of Flemish origin. Certainly one would want to know the details of how it entered English and why it came to replace swive. It appears that the latter word was indeed perceived as a gross term, and its written appearances seem confined primarily to invective or comic contexts; the first OED citation for swive is for the gerund swiving, used in the “Song of Lewes” (written ca. 1265 A.D.) as a term of contempt: the poet says that Richard of Cornwall spent all his treasure on swiving, and clearly it was not just uxorious activity that the poet had in mind. Chaucer used swive only to describe adulterous or clandestine fornication, and one can see how a word in such a smelly role will easily give way to another more foreign and vigorous: it is much easier and funnier to swear in a foreign language, as Americans have found with the British bloody, for instance. ↩︎

  5. Dra. Bettina Katzenstein, University of Hamburg, 1930. ↩︎

  6. Smith, J. The lawful truth. Los Angeles Times, Part 4, p. 1 (Jan. 13) 1977. ↩︎

  7. Aurelian, L. Science conquers all. Intellectual Digest, 4:47 (Mar.) 1974. ↩︎

  8. Smith, H.A. A Short History of Fingers (and Other State Papers). Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1963. ↩︎

  9. Murphy’s Law and its corollaries. Unpublished anonymous manuscript available through the author. ↩︎

  10. Parkinson, C. Northcote. Parkinson’s Law and Other Studies in Administration. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., Sentry Edition, 1957. ↩︎

  11. Peter, L.J. and Hull, R. The Peter Principle. New York: William Morrow & Company, Inc., 1969. ↩︎

  12. Hebb, D.O. What psychology is about. American Psychologist, 29: 71-79 (Feb.) 1974. ↩︎

  13. *In this, and other lists below, the individual forms are followed by the common names of the species, genera, etc., to which they refer, the dates of the earliest and latest citations at hand, and sigla reporting each form’s presence in one or more sources. The absence of a particular siglum after a form shall signal that form’s absence from the source referred to by that siglum. The sources are the OED (O), its supplements (Os) and the second edition of Webster’s New International Dictionary (W). ↩︎