“Arranged!” Is that cold-blooded Smithfield or Mark Lane term for a sale or a purchase the proper word to express the hopeful, joyous, golden union of young and trustful hearts? Possibly, though, the word is often used with a due regard to facts, for marriages, especially amongst our upper classes, are not always “made in heaven.” Which is the proper way to pronounce the names of great people, and what the correct authority? Lord Cowper, we are often assured, is Lord Cooper—on this principle Lord Cowley would certainly be Lord Cooley—and Mr. Carew, we are told, should be Mr. Carey, Ponsonby should be Punsunby, Eyre should be Aire, Cholmondeley should be Chumley, St. John Sinjen, Beauchamp should be Beachem, Majoribanks Marshbanks, and Powell should always be Poel. The pronunciation of proper names has long been an anomaly in the conversation of the upper classes of this country. Hodge and Podge, the clodhoppers of Shakspeare’s time, talked in their mug-houses of the great Lords Darbie, Barkelie, and Bartie. In Pall Mall and May Fair these personages are spoken of in exactly the same manner at the present day, whilst in the City, and amongst the middle classes, we only hear of Derby, Berkeley, &c.,—the correct pronunciations, if the spelling is worth aught. It must not be forgotten, however, that the pronunciation of the upper classes, as regards the names of places just mentioned, is a relic of old times when the orthography was different. The middle-class man is satisfied to take matters the modern way, but even he, when he wishes to be thought a swell, alters his style. In fact, the old rule as to proper names being pronounced according to individual taste, is, and ever will be, of absolute necessity, not only as regards the upper and middle, but the lower classes. A costermonger is ignorant of such a place as Birmingham, but understands you in a moment if you talk of Brummagem. Why do not Pall Mall exquisites join with the costermongers in this pronunciation? It is the ancient one.[46]

Parliamentary Slang, excepting a few peculiar terms connected with “the House” (scarcely Slang), is mainly composed of fashionable, literary, and learned Slang. When members get excited, and wish to be forcible, they are now and again, but not very often, found guilty of vulgarisms, and then may be not particular which of the street terms they select, providing it carries, as good old Dr. South said, plenty of “wildfire” in it. Lord Cairns when Sir Hugh, and a member of the Lower House, spoke of “that homely but expressive phrase, ‘dodge.’” Out of “the House,” several Slang terms are used in connexion with Parliament or members of Parliament. If Lord Palmerston was familiar by name to the tribes of the Caucasus and Asia Minor as a great foreign diplomatist, when the name of our Queen was unknown to the inhabitants of those parts—as was once stated in the Times—it is worthy of remark that, amongst the costers and the wild inhabitants of the streets, he was at that time better known as “Pam.” The cabmen on the “ranks” in Piccadilly have been often heard to call each other’s attention to the great leader of the Opposition in the following expressive manner—“Hollo, there! de yer see old ‘Dizzy’ doing a stump?” A “plumper” is a single vote at an election—not a “split-ticket;” and electors who had occupied a house, no matter how small, and boiled a pot in it, thus qualifying themselves for voting, used in the good old days to be termed “potwallopers.” A quiet “walk over” is a re-election without opposition and much cost; and is obtained from the sporting vocabulary, in which the term is not Slang. A “caucus” meeting refers to the private assembling of politicians before an election, when candidates are chosen, and measures of action agreed upon. The term comes from America, where caucus means a meeting simply. A “job,” in political phraseology, is a Government office or contract obtained by secret influence or favouritism; and is not a whit more objectionable in sound than is the nefarious proceeding offensive to the sense of those who pay but do not participate. The Times once spoke of “the patriotic member of Parliament ‘potted out’ in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury Street.” But then the Times was not always the mildly respectable high-class paper it now is, as a reference to the columns devoted by it to Macaulay’s official career will alone determine. These, which appeared during the present reign, would be far below the lowest journalistic taste nowadays; yet they are in keeping with the rest of the political references made at that time by the now austere and high-principled “leading journal.” The term “quockerwodger,” although referring to a wooden toy figure which jerks its limbs about when pulled by a string, has been supplemented with a political meaning. A pseudo-politician, whose strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is often termed a “quockerwodger.” From an early period politics and partyism have attracted unto themselves quaint Slang terms. Horace Walpole quotes a party nickname of February, 1742, as a Slang word of the day:—“The Tories declare against any further prosecution, if Tories there are, for now one hears of nothing but the ‘broad-bottom;’ it is the reigning Cant word, and means the taking all parties and people, indifferently, into the Ministry.” Thus “broad-bottom” in those days was Slang for “coalition.” The term “rat,” too, in allusion to rats deserting vessels about to sink, has long been employed towards those turncoat politicians who change their party for interest. Who that occasionally passes near the Houses of Parliament has not often noticed stout or careful M.P.’s walk briskly through the Hall, and on the kerb-stone in front, with umbrella or walking-cane uplifted, shout to the cabmen on the rank, “Four-wheeler!” The term is both useful and expressive; but it is none the less Slang, though of a better kind than “growler,” used to denominate the same kind of vehicle, or “shoful,” the street term for a hansom cab.

Military Slang is on a par, and of a character, with dandy Slang. Inconvenient friends, or elderly and lecturing relatives, are pronounced “dreadful bores.” This affectionate term, like most other Slang phrases which have their rise in a certain section of society, has spread and become of general application. Four-wheeled cabs are called “bounders;” and a member of the Four-in-hand Club, driving to Epsom on the Derby Day, would, using fashionable phraseology, speak of it as “tooling his drag down to the Derby.” A vehicle, if not a “drag” (or dwag), is a “trap,” or a “cask;” and if the “turn-out” happens to be in other than a trim condition, it is pronounced at once as not “down the road,” unless the critic should prefer to characterize the equipage as “dickey.” Your City swell would say it is not “up to the mark;” whilst the costermonger would call it a “wery snide affair.” In the army a barrack or military station is known as a “lobster-box;” to “cram” for an examination is to “mug-up” (this same term is much in vogue among actors, who regard mugging-up as one of the fine arts of the profession); to reject from the examination is to “spin;” and that part of the barrack occupied by subalterns is frequently spoken of as the “rookery.” In dandy or swell Slang, any celebrity, from the Poet-Laureate to the Pope of Rome, is a “swell,”—“the old swell” now occupies the place once held by the “guv’nor.” Wrinkled-faced old professors, who hold dress and fashionable tailors in abhorrence, are called “awful swells,”—if they happen to be very learned or clever. In this upper-class Slang, a title is termed a “handle;” trousers, “inexpressibles,” and bags, or “howling bags,” when of a large pattern;—a superior appearance, or anything above the common cut, is styled “extensive;” a four-wheeled cab is called a “birdcage;” a dance, a “hop;” dining at another man’s table, “sitting under his mahogany;” anything flashy or showy, “loud;” the peculiar make or cut of a coat, its “build;” full dress, “full fig;” wearing clothes which represent the very extreme of fashion, “dressing to death;” a dinner or supper party, a “spread;” a friend (or a “good fellow”), a “trump;” a difficulty, a “screw loose;” and everything that is unpleasant, “from bad sherry to a writ from a tailor,” “jeuced infernal.” The phrase, “to send a man to Coventry,” or permit no person “in the set” to speak to him, although an ancient saying, must still be considered Slang.

The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and the great public schools, are the hotbeds of fashionable Slang. Growing boys and high-spirited young fellows detest restraint of all kinds, and prefer making a dash at life in a Slang phraseology of their own to all the set forms and syntactical rules of Alma Mater. Many of the most expressive words in a common chit-chat, or free-and-easy conversation, are old university vulgarisms. “Cut,” in the sense of dropping an acquaintance, was originally a Cambridge form of speech; and “hoax,” to deceive or ridicule, we are informed by Grose, was many years since an Oxford term. Among the words that fast society has borrowed from our great scholastic—not establishments (they are sacred to linendrapery and “gentlemanly assistants”)—institutions, is found “crib,” a house or apartments; “dead men,” empty wine bottles; “drawing teeth,”[47] wrenching off knockers,—an obsolete amusement; “fizzing,” first-rate, or splendid; “governor,” or “relieving-officer,” the general term for a male parent; “plucked,” defeated or turned back, now altered to “plough;” “quiz,” to scrutinize, or a prying old fellow; and “row,” a noisy disturbance. The Slang words in use at Oxford and Cambridge would alone fill a volume. As examples let us take “scout,” which at Oxford refers to an undergraduate’s valet, whilst the same menial at Cambridge is termed a “gyp,”—popularly derived by the Cantabs from the Greek, γὺψ, a vulture; “skull,” the head, or master, of a college; “battles,” the Oxford term for rations, changed at Cambridge into “commons.” The term “dickey,” a half-shirt, it is said, originated with the students of Trinity College, Dublin, who at first styled it a “tommy,” from the Greek τομὴ, a section,—the change from “tommy” to “dickey” requires no explanation. “Crib,” a literal translation, is now universal; “grind” refers to “working up” for an examination, also to a walk or “constitutional;” “Hivite” is a student of St. Begh’s (St. Bee’s) College, Cumberland; to “japan,” in this Slang speech, is to ordain; “mortar board” is a square college cap; “sim,” a student of a Methodistical turn—in allusion to the Rev. Charles Simeon; “sloggers,” at Cambridge, refers to the second division of race-boats, known at Oxford as “torpids;” “sport” is to show or exhibit; “trotter” is the jocose term for a tailor’s man who goes round for orders; and “tufts” are privileged students who dine with the “dons,” and are distinguished by golden tufts, or tassels, in their caps. Hence we get the world-wide Slang term “tuft-hunter,” one whose pride it is to be acquainted with scions of the nobility—a sycophantic race unfortunately not confined to any particular place or climate, nor peculiar to any age or either sex. There are many terms in use at Oxford not known at Cambridge; and such Slang names as “coach,” “gulf,” “harry-soph,” “poker,” or “post-mortem,” common enough at Cambridge, are seldom or never heard at the great sister University. For numerous other examples of college Slang the reader is referred to the Dictionary.

Religious Slang, strange as the compound may appear, exists with other descriptions of vulgar speech at the present day. Punch, in one of those half-humorous, half-serious articles, once so characteristic of the wits engaged on that paper, who were, as a rule, fond of lecturing any national abuse or popular folly, remarked—“Slang has long since penetrated into the Forum, and now we meet it in the Senate, and even the pulpit itself is no longer free from its intrusion.” There is no wish here, for one moment, to infer that the practice is general. On the contrary, and in justice to the clergy, it must be said that the principal disseminators of pure English throughout the country are the ministers of our Established Church. Yet it cannot be denied that a great deal of Slang phraseology and expressive vulgarism have gradually crept into the very pulpits which should give forth as pure speech as doctrine. This is an error which, however, has only to be noticed, to be cured.

Dean Conybeare, in his able “Essay on Church Parties,”[48] has noticed this addition of Slang to our pulpit speech. As stated in his Essay, the practice appears to confine itself mainly to the exaggerated forms of the High and Low Church—the Tractarians and the “Recordites.”[49] By way of illustration, the Dean cites the evening parties, or social meetings, common amongst the wealthier lay members of the Recordite churches, where the principal topics discussed—one or more favourite clergymen being present in a quasi-official manner—are “the merits and demerits of different preachers, the approaching restoration of the Jews, the date of the Millennium, the progress of the ‘Tractarian heresy,’ and the anticipated ‘perversion’ of High Church neighbours.” These subjects are canvassed in a dialect differing considerably from English, as the word is generally understood. The terms “faithful,” “tainted,” “acceptable,” “decided,” “legal,” and many others, are used in a sense different from that given to any of them by the lexicographers. We hear that Mr. A. has been more “owned” than Mr. B.; and that Mr. C. has more “seals”[50] than Mr. D. Again, the word “gracious” is invested with a meaning as extensive as that attached by young ladies to nice. Thus, we hear of a “gracious sermon,” a “gracious meeting,” a “gracious child,” and even a “gracious whipping.” The word “dark” has also a new and peculiar usage. It is applied to every person, book, or place not impregnated with Recordite principles. A ludicrous misunderstanding resulting from this phraseology is on record (this is not a joke). “What did you mean,” said A. to B., “by telling me that —— was such a very ‘dark’ village? I rode over there to-day, and found the street particularly broad and cheerful, and there is not a tree in the place.” “The gospel is not preached there,” was B’s. laconic reply. The conclusion of one of these singular evening parties is generally marked by an “exposition”—an unseasonable sermon of nearly one hour’s duration, circumscribed by no text, and delivered from the table by one of the clerical visitors with a view to “improve the occasion.” This same term, “improve the occasion,” is of Slang slangy, and is so mouthed by Stigginses and Chadbands, and their followers, that it has become peculiarly objectionable to persons of broad views. In the Essay to which reference has been made, the religious Slang terms for the two great divisions of the Established Church receive some explanation. The old-fashioned High Church party—rich and “stagnant,” noted for its “sluggish mediocrity, hatred of zeal, dread of innovation, abuse of Dissent, blundering and languid utterance”—is called the “high and dry;” whilst the opposing division, known as the Low Church—equally stagnant with the former, but poorer, and more lazily inclined (from absence of education) towards Dissent—receives the nickname of the “low and slow.” These terms are among persons learned in the distinctions shortened, in ordinary conversation, to the “dry” and the “slow.” The Broad Church, or moderate division, is often spoken of as the “broad and shallow.”

What can be more objectionable than the irreverent and offensive manner in which many Dissenting ministers continually pronounce the names of the Deity—God and Lord? God, instead of pronouncing in the plain and beautiful simple old English way, “G‑o‑d,” they drawl out into “Gorde” or “Gaude;” and Lord, instead of speaking in the proper way, they desecrate into “Loard” or “Loerd,”—lingering on the u, or the r, as the case may be, until an honest hearer feels disgusted, and almost inclined to run the gauntlet of beadles and deacons, and pull the vulgar preacher from his pulpit. This is, though a Christian impulse, hardly in accordance with our modern times and tolerant habits. Many young preachers strive hard to acquire this peculiar pronunciation, in imitation of the older ministers. What, then, can more properly be called Slang, or, indeed, the most objectionable of Slang, than this studious endeavour to pronounce the most sacred names in a uniformly vulgar and unbecoming manner? If the old-fashioned preacher whistled Cant through his nose, the modern vulgar reverend whines Slang from the more natural organ. These vagaries of speech will, perhaps, by an apologist, be termed “pulpit peculiarities,” and the writer may be impugned for having dared to intermeddle with a subject that is or should be removed from his criticisms. Honesty of purpose and evident truthfulness of remark will, however, overcome the most virulent opposition. The terms used by the mob towards the Church, however illiberal and satirically vulgar, are fairly within the province of an inquiry such as the present. A clergyman, in vulgar language, is spoken of as a “choker,” a “cushion-thumper,” a “dominie,” an “earwig,” a “gospel-grinder,” a “grey-coat parson;” a “spouter,” a “white-choker,” or a “warming-pan rector,” if he only holds the living pro tempore. If he is a lessee of the great tithes, “one in ten;” or if spoken of by an Anglo-Indian, a “rook.” If a Tractarian, his outer garment is rudely spoken of as a “pygostole,” or “M. B. (mark of the beast) coat.” His profession is termed “the cloth” (this item of Slang has been already referred to), and his practice is called “tub-thumping.” This latter term has of late years been almost peculiarly confined to itinerant preachers. Should he belong to the Dissenting body, he is probably styled a “pantiler,” or a “psalm smiter,” or perhaps, a “swaddler.”[51] His chapel, too, is spoken of as a “schism shop.” A Roman Catholic is coarsely named a “brisket-beater.”

Particular as lawyers generally are about the meanings of words, they have not prevented an unauthorized phraseology from arising, which may be termed legal Slang. So forcibly did this truth impress a late writer, that he wrote in a popular journal, “You may hear Slang every day in term from barristers in their robes, at every mess-table, at every bar-mess, at every college commons, and in every club dining-room.” Swift, in his Art of Polite Conversation (p. 15), published a century and a half ago, states that “vardi” was the Slang in his time for “verdict.” A few of the most common and well-known terms used out of doors, with reference to legal matters, are “cook,” to hash or make up a balance-sheet; “dipped,” mortgaged; “dun” (from a famous writ or process-server named Dunn), to solicit payment; “fullied,” to be “fully committed for trial;” “land shark,” a sailor’s definition of a lawyer; “limb of the law,” a milder term for the same “professional;” “monkey with a long tail,” a mortgage; “mouthpiece,” the thief’s term for his counsel; “to run through the ring,” to take advantage of the Insolvency Act; “smash,” to become bankrupt; “snipe,” an attorney with a long bill; and “whitewash,” to take the benefit of the Insolvent Act. Comparatively recent legislation has rendered many of these terms obsolete, and “in liquidation” is now the most ominous sound a creditor can hear. Lawyers, from their connexion with the police courts, and transactions with persons in every grade of society, have ample opportunities for acquiring street Slang, of which, in cross-questioning and wrangling, they frequently avail themselves.

It is singular that what Punch says unwittingly and in humour respecting the Slang expression “bosh,” should be quite true. “Bosh,” remarks Punch, after speaking of it as belonging to the stock of words pilfered from the Turks, “is one whose innate force and beauty the slangographer is reluctantly compelled to admit. It is the only word which seems a proper appellation for a great deal which we are obliged to hear and to read every day of our life.” “Bosh,” nonsense or stupidity, is derived from the Gipsy and the Persian. The universality of Slang is proved by its continual use in the pages of Punch. Who ever thinks, unless belonging to a past generation, of asking a friend to explain the stray vulgar words employed by the London Charivari? Some of the jokes, though, might nowadays be accompanied by explanatory notes, in similar style to that adopted by youthful artists who write “a man,” “a horse,” &c., when rather uncertain as to whether or not their efforts will meet with due appreciation.

The Athenæum, the Saturday Review, and other kindred “weeklies,” often indulge in Slang words when force of expression or a little humour is desired, or when the various writers wish to say something which is better said in Slang, or so-called vulgar speech, than in the authorized language. Bartlett, the compiler of the Dictionary of Americanisms, continually cites the Athenæum as using Slang and vulgar expressions; but the magazine the American refers to is not the literary journal of the present day,—it was a smaller, and now defunct, “weekly.” The present possessor of the classic title is, though, by no means behindhand in its devotion to colloquialisms. Many other highly respectable journals often use Slang words and phrases. The Times (or, in Slang, the “Thunderer”) frequently employs unauthorized terms; and, following a “leader”[54] of the purest and most eloquent composition, may sometimes be seen another “article”[54] on a totally different subject, containing, perhaps, a score or more of exceedingly questionable words. Among the words and phrases which may be included under the head of Literary Slang are, “balaam,” matter kept constantly in type about monstrous productions of nature, to fill up spaces in newspapers; “balaam-box,” the term given in Blackwood to the repository for rejected articles; and “slate,” to pelt with abuse, or “cut up” in a review. “He’s the fellow to slate a piece” is often said of dramatic critics, especially of those who through youth, inexperience, and the process of unnatural selection which causes them to be critics, imagine that to abuse all that is above their comprehension is to properly exercise the critical faculty. This is, however, dangerous ground. The Slang names given to newspapers are curious;—thus, the Morning Advertiser is known as the “Tap-tub,” the “’Tizer,” and was until recently the “Gin and Gospel Gazette.” The Morning Post has obtained the suggestive sobriquet of “Jeames;” whilst the Morning Herald was long caricatured as “Mrs. Harris,” and the Standard as “Mrs. Gamp.”[55]

The Stage, of course, has its Slang—“both before and behind the curtain,” as a journalist remarks. The stage-manager is familiarly termed “daddy;” and an actor by profession, or a “professional,” is called a “pro.” It is amusing at times to hear a young actor—who struts about padded with copies of all newspapers that have mentioned his name—talking, in a mixed company, of the stage as the profession. This is after all but natural, for to him “all the world’s a stage.” A man who is occasionally hired at a trifling remuneration to come upon the stage as one of a crowd, or when a number of actors are wanted to give effect, is named a “supe,”—an abbreviation of “supernumerary.” A “surf” is a third-rate actor, who frequently pursues another calling; and the band, or orchestra between the pit and the stage, is generally spoken of as the “menagerie.” A “ben” is a benefit; and “sal” is the Slang abbreviation of “salary.” Should no money be forthcoming on the Saturday night, it is said that the “ghost doesn’t walk;” or else the statement goes abroad that there is “no treasury,” as though the coffers themselves had departed. The travelling or provincial theatricals, who perform in any large room that can be rented in a country village, are called “barn-stormers.” A “length” is forty-two lines of any dramatic composition; and a “run” is the continuous term of a piece’s performance. A “saddle” is the additional charge made by a manager to an actor or actress upon his or her benefit night. To “mug up” is to paint one’s face, or arrange the person, to represent a particular character; to “corpse,” or to “stick,” is to balk, or put the other actors out in their parts by forgetting yours. A performance is spoken of as either a “gooser” or a “screamer,” should it be a failure or a great success;—if the latter, it is not infrequently termed a “hit.” To “goose” a performance is to hiss it; and continued “goosing” generally ends, or did end before managers refused to accept the verdict of audiences, in the play or the players being “damned.” To “star it” is to perform as the centre of attraction, with your name in large type, and none but subordinates and indifferent actors in the same performance. The expressive term “clap-trap,” high-sounding nonsense, is nothing but an ancient theatrical term, and signified a “trap” to catch a “clap” by way of applause. “Up amongst the ‘gods,’” refers to being among the spectators in the gallery,—termed in French Slang “paradis.”

There exists, too, in the great territory of vulgar speech what may not inappropriately be termed Civic Slang. It consists of mercantile and Stock Exchange terms, and the Slang of good living and wealth. A turkey hung with sausages is facetiously styled an “alderman in chains,”—a term which has spread from the City and become general; and a half-crown, perhaps from its rotundity, is often termed an “alderman.” A “bear” is a speculator on the Exchange; and a “bull,” although of an opposite order, follows a like profession. There is something very humorous and applicable in the Slang term “lame duck,” a defaulter in stock-jobbing speculations. The allusion to his “waddling out of the Alley,” as they say, is excellent. “Breaking shins,” in City Slang, is borrowing money; a rotten or unsound scheme is spoken of as “fishy;” “rigging the market” means playing tricks with it; and “stag” was a common term during the railway mania for a speculator without capital, a seller of “scrip” in “Diddlesex Junction” and other equally safe lines. At Tattersall’s a “monkey” is 500l., and in the City a “plum” is 100,000l., and a “marygold” is one million sterling. But before proceeding further in a sketch of the different kinds of Slang, it may be as well to speak here of the extraordinary number of Cant and Slang terms in use to represent money—from farthings to bank-notes the value of fortunes. Her Majesty’s coin, collectively or in the piece, is known by more than one hundred and thirty distinct Slang words, from the humble “brown” (a halfpenny) to “flimsies,” or “long-tailed ones” (bank-notes).

“Money,” it has been well remarked, “the bare, simple word itself, has a sonorous, significant ring in its sound,” and might have sufficed, one would have imagined, for all ordinary purposes, excepting, of course, those demanded by direct reference to specific sums. But a vulgar or “fast” society has thought differently; and so we have the Slang synonyms—“beans,” “blunt” (i.e., specie,—not soft or rags, bank-notes), “brads,” “brass,” “bustle,” “coppers” (copper money, or mixed pence), “chink,” “chinkers,” “chips,” “corks,” “dibbs,” “dinarly,” “dimmock,” “dust,” “feathers,” “gent” (silver,—from argent), “haddock” (a purse of money), “horse nails,” “huckster,” “loaver,” “lour” (the oldest Cant term for money), “mopusses,” “needful,” “nobbings” (money collected in a hat by street-performers), “ochre” (gold), “pewter,” “palm oil,” “pieces,” “posh,” “queen’s pictures,” “quids,” “rags” (bank-notes), “ready,” or “ready gilt,” “redge” (gold), “rhino,” “rowdy,” “shiners” (sovereigns), “skin” (a purse of money), “stiff” (checks, or bills of acceptance), “stuff,” “stumpy,” “tin” (silver), “wedge” (silver), and “yellow-boys” (sovereigns);—just forty-three vulgar equivalents for the simple word money. So attentive is Slang speech to financial matters, that there are seven terms for bad, or “bogus,” coin (as our friends the Americans call it): a “case” is a counterfeit five-shilling piece; “half a case” represents half that sum; “grays” are halfpence made specially for unfair gambling purposes; “queer-soft” is counterfeit or lead coin; “schofel” refers to coated or spurious coin; “sheen” is bad money of any description; and “sinkers” bears the same and not inappropriate meaning. “Snide” is now the generic term for all bad money, whether coined or in notes; and “snide-pitching” or “schoful-tossing” is the term in use among the professors of that pursuit for what is more generally known as “smashing.” “Flying the kite,” or obtaining money on bills and promissory-notes, is closely connected with the allegorical expression of “raising the wind,” which is a well-known phrase for procuring money by immediate sale, pledging, or by a forced loan. In winter or in summer any elderly gentleman who may have prospered in life is pronounced “warm;” whilst an equivalent is immediately at hand in the phrase “his pockets are well lined,” or “he is well breeched.” Each separate piece of money has its own Slang term, and often half a score of synonyms. To begin with that extremely humble coin, a farthing: first we have “fadge,” then “fiddler;” then “gig,” and lastly “quartereen.” A halfpenny is a “brown” or a “madzer (pronounced ‘medzer’) saltee” (Cant), or a “mag,” or a “posh,” or a “rap,”—whence the popular phrase, “I don’t care a rap.” The useful and universal penny has for Slang equivalents a “copper,” a “saltee” (Cant), and a “winn.” Twopence is a “deuce,” and threepence is either “thrums” or “thrups.” “Thrums” has a special peculiarity; for while “thrums-buskin” represents threepence-halfpenny, the term “buskin” is not used in connexion with any other number of pence. Fourpence, or a groat, may in vulgar speech be termed a “bit,” a “flag,” or a “joey.” Sixpence is well represented in street talk, and some of the slangisms are very comical—for instance, “bandy,” “bender,” “cripple,” and “downer;” then we have “buck,” “fye-b’ck,” “half a hog,” “kick” (thus “two and a ‘kick,’” or 2s. 6d.), “lord of the manor,”[56] “pig,” “pot” (the price of a pot of ale—thus half-a-crown is a “five ‘pot’ piece”), “snid,” “sprat,” “sow’s baby,” “tanner,” “tester,” “tizzy,”—seventeen vulgar words to one coin. Sevenpence being an uncommon amount has only one Slang synonym, “setter.” The same remark applies to eightpence and ninepence, the former being only represented by “otter,” and the latter by the Cant phrase “nobba-saltee.” Tenpence is “dacha-saltee,” and elevenpence “dacha-one,”—both Cant expressions. It is noticeable that coined pieces, and sums which from their smallness or otherwise are mostly in use, receive a commensurate amount of attention from promoters of Slang. One shilling boasts eleven Slang equivalents; thus we have “beong,” “bob,” “breaky-leg,” “deener,” “gen” (from the back Slang), “hog,” “levy,” “peg,” “stag,” “teviss,” and “twelver.” One shilling and sixpence is a “kye,” now and then an “eighteener.” It is noticeable that so far the florin has escaped, and only receives the shilling titles with the required numeral adjective prefixed. Half-a-crown is known as an “alderman,” “half a bull,” “half a wheel,” “half a tusheroon,” and a “madza (medzer) caroon;” whilst a crown piece, or five shillings, may be called either a “bull,” a “caroon,” a “cartwheel,” or a “coachwheel,” or, more generally than either, a “wheel” or a “tusheroon.” The word “dollar” is in general use among costermongers and their customers, and signifies exactly five shillings. Any term representing this amount “takes in two,” and represents the half-crown by the addition of the usual prefix. The next advance in Slang money is ten shillings, or half-a-sovereign, which may be either pronounced as “half a bean,” “half a couter,” “a madza poona,” “half a quid,” or “half a thick ’un.” A sovereign, or twenty shillings, is a “bean,” “canary,” “couter,” “foont,” “goldfinch,” “James” (from Jacobus), “poona,” “portrait,” “quid,” “thick-un,” or “yellow-boy.” Guineas are nearly obsolete, yet the terms “neds” and “half neds” are still in use. Bank-notes are “flimsies,” “long-tailed ones,” or “soft.” A “fin,” or a “finnuf,” is a five-pound note. Twenty-five pounds is a “pony,” and a hundred a “century.” One hundred pounds (or any other “round sum”), quietly handed over as payment for services performed, is curiously termed “a ‘cool’ hundred.” Thus ends, with several necessary omissions, this long list of Slang terms for the coins of the realm which, for copiousness, it is not too much to say, is not equalled by any other vulgar or unauthorized language in Europe.

The antiquity of many of these Slang names is remarkable. “Winn” was the vulgar term for a penny in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and “tester,” a sixpence (formerly a shilling), was the correct name in the days of Henry VIII. The reader, too, will have remarked the frequency of animals’ names as Slang terms for money. Little, as a modern writer has remarked, do the persons using these phrases know of their remote and somewhat classical origin, which may, indeed, be traced to a period anterior to that when monarchs monopolized the surface of coined money with their own images and superscriptions. They are identical with the very name of money among the early Romans, which was pecunia, from pecus, a flock. The collections of coin-dealers amply show that the figure of a “hog” was anciently placed on a small silver coin; and that that of a “bull” decorated larger ones of the same metal. These coins were frequently deeply crossed on the reverse; this was for the convenience of easily breaking them into two or more pieces, should the bargain for which they were employed require it, and the parties making it had no smaller change handy to complete the transaction. Thus we find that the “half bull” of the itinerant street-seller, or “traveller,” so far from being a phrase of modern invention, as is generally supposed, is in point of fact referable to an era extremely remote. This remark will safely apply to most descriptions of money; and it must not be forgotten that farthing is but a corruption of fourthing, or, literally, fourth part of a penny. The representative coin of the realm was often in olden times made to break up,—but this by the way. It is a reminder, however, that the word “smash,” as used by the classes that speak Slang from motives other than those of affectation, has nothing whatever to do with base coin, as is generally supposed. It simply means to give change. Thus:—“Can you smash a thick ’un for me?” means simply, “Can you give me change for a sovereign?” We learn from Erizzo, in his Discorso, a further illustration of the proverb “that there is nothing new under the sun;” for he says that the Roman boys at the time of Hadrian tossed up their coppers and cried, “Head or ship;” of which tradition our “heads or tails,” and “man or woman,” or “a tanner I heads ’em,” is certainly a less refined version. We thence gather, however, that the prow of a vessel would appear to have been the more ordinary device of the reverse of the brass coin of that ancient period. There are many other Cant words directly from a classic source, as will be seen in the dictionary.

Shopkeepers’ Slang is perhaps the most offensive of all Slang, though this is not intended to imply that shopkeepers are perhaps the most offensive of people. This kind of Slang is not a casual eyesore, as newspaper Slang, neither is it an occasional discomfort to the ear, as in the case of some vulgar byword of the street; but it is a perpetual nuisance, and stares you in the face on tradesmen’s invoices, on labels in the shop-windows, and placards on the hoardings, in posters against the house next to your own—if it happen to be empty for a few weeks—and in bills thrust into your hand, as you peaceably walk through the streets. Under your door, and down your area, Slang handbills are dropped by some “pushing” tradesman; and for the thousandth time you are called upon to learn that an “alarming sacrifice” is taking place in the next street; that prices are “down again;” that, in consequence of some other tradesman not “driving a roaring trade,” being in fact, “sold up,” and for the time being a resident in “Burdon’s Hotel” (Whitecross-Street Prison), the “pushing” tradesman wishes to sell out at “awfully low prices,” to “the kind patrons, and numerous customers,” &c. &c., “that have on every occasion,” &c. &c. These are, though, very venial offenders compared with those ghouls, the advertising undertakers, who employ boys, loaded with ghastly little books, to follow up the parish doctor, and leave their horrible wares wherever he calls. But what can be expected of ignorant undertakers when a London newspaper of large circulation actually takes out the death records from the Times, and sends a circular to each address therein, informing the bereaved persons that the “——” charges so much per line for similar notices, and that its circulation is most extensive? Surely the typical “death-hunter,” hardened though he may be, is hardly down to that level. In shopkeeping Slang any occupation or calling is termed a “line,”—thus, the “building line.” A tailor usurps to himself a good deal of Slang. Amongst operatives he is called a “snip,” a “steel-bar driver,” a “cabbage contractor,” or a “goose persuader;” by the world, a “ninth part of a man;” and by the young collegian, or “fast” man, a “sufferer.” If he takes army contracts, it is “sank work;” if he is a “slop” tailor, he is a “springer up,” and his garments are “blown together.” Perquisites with him are “spiffs,” and remnants of cloth “peaking, or cabbage.” The per-centage he allows to his assistants (or “counter jumpers”) on the sale of old-fashioned articles is termed “tinge.” If he pays his workmen in goods, or gives them tickets upon other tradesmen, with whom he shares the profit, he is soon known as a “tommy master.” If his business succeeds, it “takes;” if neglected, it becomes “shaky,” and “goes to pot;” if he is deceived by a debtor (a by no means unusual circumstance), he is “let in,” or, as it is sometimes varied, “taken in.” It need scarcely be remarked that any credit he may give is termed “tick.”

Operatives’ or workmen’s Slang, in quality, is but slightly removed from tradesmen’s Slang. When belonging to the same shop or factory, they “graft” there, and are “brother chips.” Among printers the favourite term is “comps,”—not compositors, though the same contraction is used for that word,—but companions, whether so in actual fact, or as members of the same “companionship.” A companionship is the number of men engaged on any one work, and this is in turn reduced to “ship:” sometimes it is a “’stab ship,” i.e., paid by the week, therefore on the establishment; sometimes it is “on the piece,” and anyhow it is an extremely critical organization, so perhaps it would be better to broaden the subject. Workmen generally dine at “slap-bang shops,” and are often paid at “tommy shops.” At the nearest “pub,” or public-house, they generally have a “score chalked up” against them, which has to be “wiped off” regularly on the Saturday night. This is often known as a “light.” When credit is bad the “light” is said to be out. When out of work, they describe themselves as being “out of collar.” They term each other “flints” and “dungs,” if they are “society” or “non-society” men. Their salary is a “screw,” and to be discharged is to “get the sack,” varied by the expression “get the bullet,” the connexion of which with discharge is obvious, as the small lecturers—those at the Polytechnic for instance—say, to the meanest capacity. When they quit work, they “knock off;” and when out of employ, they ask if any “hands” are, or any assistance is, wanted. “Fat” is the vulgar synonym for perquisites; “elbow grease” signifies labour; and “Saint Monday” is the favourite day of the week. Names of animals figure plentifully in the workman’s vocabulary; thus we have “goose,” a tailor’s smoothing-iron; “sheep’s-foot,” an iron hammer; “sow,” a receptacle for molten iron, whilst the metal poured from it is termed “pig.” Many of the Slang terms for money may have originally come from the workshop, thus—“brads,” from the ironmonger; “chips,” from the carpenter; “dust,” from the goldsmith; “feathers,” from the upholsterer; “horse-nails,” from the farrier; “haddock,” from the fishmonger; and “tanner and skin” from the leather-dresser.

If society, as has been remarked, is a sham, from the vulgar foundation of commonalty to the crowning summit of royalty, then do we perceive the justness of the remark in that most peculiar of peculiarities, the Slang of makeshifts for oaths, and sham exclamations for passion and temper. These apologies for feeling are an addition to our vernacular, and though some argue that they are a disgrace, for the reason that no man should pretend to swear or curse who does not do so, it is some satisfaction to know that they serve the purpose of reducing the stock of national profanity. “You be blowed,” or “I’ll be blowed if,” &c., is an exclamation often heard in the streets. “Blazes,” or “like blazes,” came probably from the army, unless, indeed, it came from the original metaphor, afterwards corrupted, to serve all turns, “to smoke like blazes.” “Blast,” too, although in general vulgar use, may have had an engineering or military origin, and the phrase, “I wish I may be shot, if,” smacks much of powder. “Blow me tight” is a very windy and common exclamation. The same may be said of “strike me lucky,” “never trust me,” and “so help me Davy;” the latter being evidently derived from the truer old phrase, “I’ll take my Davy on’t”—i.e., my affidavit, “Davy,” and sometimes “Alfred Davy,” being a corruption of that word. “By Golly,” “Gol darn it,” and “so help”—generally pronounced “selp” or “swelp”—“me Bob,” are evident shams for profane oaths. “Tarnation” is but a softening of damnation; and “od,” whether used in “od drat it,” or “od’s blood,” is but an apology for the name of the Deity. “Marry,” a term of asseveration in common use, was originally, in Popish times, a mode of swearing by the Virgin Mary;—so also “marrow-bones,” for the knees. “I’ll bring him down upon his marrow-bones,”—i.e., I’ll make him bend his knees as he does to the Virgin Mary. The Irish phrase, “Bad scran to yer!” is equivalent to wishing a person bad food. “I’m sniggered if you will,” and “I’m jiggered,” are other mild forms of swearing among men fearful of committing an open profanity, yet slily nibbling at the sin. Maybe, some day one of these adventurers will meet with the object of his desires, and then when fairly “jiggered,” whatever it may ultimately turn out to be, it is to be hoped he will prove a fearful example to all persons with the will, but not the pluck, to swear fierce oaths. Both “deuce” and “dickens” are vulgar old synonyms for the devil; and “zounds” is an abbreviation of “God’s wounds,”—a very ancient oath.

In a casual survey of the territory of Slang, it is curious to observe how well represented are the familiar wants and failings of life. First, there is money, with one hundred and odd Slang terms and synonyms; then comes drink, from small beer to champagne; and next as a very natural sequence, intoxication, and fuddlement generally, with some half a hundred vulgar terms, graduating the scale of drunkenness, from a slight inebriation to the soaky state which leads to the gutter, sometimes to the stretcher, the station-house, the fine, and, most terrible of all, the “caution.” The Slang synonyms for mild intoxication are certainly very choice,—they are “beery,” “bemused,” “boozy,” “bosky,” “buffy,” “corned,” “foggy,” “fou,” “fresh,” “hazy,” “elevated,” “kisky,” “lushy,” “moony,” “muggy,” “muzzy,” “on,” “screwed,” “stewed,” “tight,” and “winey.” A higher or more intense state of beastliness is represented by the expressions, “podgy,” “beargered,” “blued,” “cut,” “primed,” “lumpy,” “ploughed,” “muddled,” “obfuscated,” “swipey,” “three sheets in the wind,” and “top-heavy.” But the climax of fuddlement is only obtained when the “disguised” individual “can’t see a hole in a ladder,” or when he is all “mops and brooms,” or “off his nut,” or with his “main-brace well spliced,” or with the “sun in his eyes,” or when he has “lapped the gutter,” and got the “gravel rash,” or is on the “ran-tan,” or on the “ree-raw,” or when “sewed up,” and regularly “scammered,”—then, and not till then, is he entitled, in vulgar society, to the title of “lushington,” or recommended to “put in the pin,” i.e., the linch-pin, to keep his legs steady.

THE
SLANG DICTIONARY.

A 1, first-rate, the very best; “she’s a prime girl, she is; she is A 1.”—Sam Slick. The highest classification of ships at Lloyd’s; common term in the United States; also at Liverpool and other English seaports. Another, even more intensitive form is “first-class, letter A, No. 1.” Some people choose to say A I, for no reason, however, beyond that of being different from others.

Abigail, a lady’s-maid; perhaps obtained from old comedies. Used in an uncomplimentary sense. Some think the term is derived from Abigail Hill (Mrs. Masham), lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne, and a typical ABIGAIL in the way of intrigue.

About Right, “to do the thing ABOUT RIGHT,” i.e., to do it properly, soundly, correctly; “he guv it ’im ABOUT RIGHT,” i.e., he beat him severely.