ENGLISH SPELLING
                                  AND
                            SPELLING REFORM

                                   BY
                   THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D.
                     Emeritus Professor of English
                           in Yale University

                             [Illustration]

                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                      HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
                                 MCMIX




                               BOOKS BY

                          THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY


ENGLISH SPELLING AND SPELLING REFORM.

                          Post 8vo. net $1.50

THE STANDARD OF USAGE IN ENGLISH.

                          Post 8vo. net $1.50

THE STANDARD OF PRONUNCIATION IN ENGLISH.

                           Post 8vo. net 1.50

STUDIES IN CHAUCER. 3 Vols.        8vo. 9.00


                 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y.

                Copyright, 1909, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

                        _All rights reserved._

                       Published October, 1909.




                                   TO

                            BRANDER MATTHEWS

                 AS A TRIBUTE TO A FELLOW-COMBATANT IN
                  A COMMON CAUSE, AND A TESTIMONIAL OF
                 THE LONG-CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP OF YEARS




                               CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                                             PAGE

  I. CONFESSIONS OF A SPELLING REFORMER                                1

  II. ATTITUDE OF THE EDUCATED                                        56

  III. THE ORTHOGRAPHIC SITUATION                                     94

  I. THE PROBLEM                                                      94
  II. MOVEMENT OF VOWEL-SOUNDS                                       100
  III. THE VOWELS                                                    113
  IV. THE DIGRAPHS                                                   134
  V. THE CONSONANTS                                                  160

  IV. THE QUESTION OF _HONOR_                                        194

  V. METHODS OF RELIEF                                               238

  VI. OBJECTIONS, REAL OR REPUTED                                    280

  I. LOSS OF KNOWLEDGE OF DERIVATION                                 283
  II. LIKENESS OF SPELLING IN WORDS WITH UNLIKE MEANINGS             307
  III. EXISTING BOOKS RENDERED VALUELESS                             314
  IV. IMPOSSIBILITY OF PHONETIC SPELLING                             320

  VII. THE FINAL CONSIDERATION                                       331

  INDEX                                                              343




                                PREFACE


The main ideas underlying the treatment here found of English
orthography were embodied in an article which appeared in the _Atlantic
Monthly_ for June, 1907. The title it there bore was “Confessions of a
Spelling Reformer.” This it was the original intention to give to the
present work. But with the changes which were required in recasting
the article upon which it was based, with the great expansion of many
of the points considered in it, more than all with the extension of
its scope so as to include many new topics, the personal element which
had characterized it none too prominently in the first place sank into
almost complete insignificance. Hence followed the inappropriateness
of the title. Here, accordingly, it has been confined to the opening
chapter, and for it has been substituted that which the volume now
bears.

As published in the magazine, the article referred to was of a length
so unconscionable that I have always been confident that the editor,
however carefully he concealed his feelings, groaned inwardly at the
space he obliged himself to give up to it. Still, long as it was, much
which had been prepared for it was cut out before transmission. It
was felt that there is a point beyond which the patience of the most
long-suffering of editors will not stretch. A few passages which were
then omitted were later made to do service in a presidential address
given at the annual meeting of the Simplified Spelling Board. These
have been restored here, though in a much enlarged form, to their
old place. With them also has been reinstated a good deal of other
matter which had been struck out before the article was forwarded
for publication. I have also made use of several paragraphs which
had appeared a number of years ago in contributions to the _Century
Magazine_. In addition, it is to be said that one whole chapter in
the volume has been printed before, though very much abbreviated, in
_Harper’s Magazine_. But in spite of the extent to which I have drawn
upon matter previously published, fully two-thirds of the contents of
the present treatise has never up to this time appeared in print. This
is true in particular of what in my own eyes is the most important
chapter in the book--that on the Orthographic Situation.

The subject of spelling reform is not, strictly speaking, a
soul-stirring one, nor is any possible treatment of it likely to
contribute to the gayety of nations. If any of the chapters contained
in the present volume be of the slightest interest in itself, that
on the orthographic situation is assuredly not the one. On the other
hand, if there be anything of value in the work, that same chapter
has, as I look at it, far the most value. There is in it, indeed,
nothing original. The numerous facts it contains are to be found
scattered up and down the pages of various volumes--particularly in
the introductions to the larger dictionaries, and in orthographic and
orthoepic essays produced at various periods. But so far as I know,
this is the first attempt ever made to collect and combine and, above
all, to put in a form, easily comprehensible by the general reader,
the widely scattered facts which go to show the precise character
and characteristics of English orthography, and to bring out with
distinctness the real nature of the deep-seated disease under which it
labors.

At all events, whether or not I have been anticipated in the
presentation of these facts, such knowledge of them as can be gained
from this volume or from some better source is essential to the
comprehension of the subject or to any proper consideration of it.
Designedly and avowedly incomplete as is the survey of the subject
here taken, it is sufficiently detailed to give any one who cares to
understand it a fair degree of familiarity with the situation which
confronts him who sets out to effect a genuine and not a spurious
reform. It is furthermore sufficient to give him a fair conception of
the sort of work that will have to be done before the anarchy which now
prevails in our spelling can give way to even the semblance of order.

Assuredly there was ample need of a work of this sort being prepared,
and the only regret that need be entertained is that it has not fallen
to some one better equipped than myself to prepare it. For I reiterate
in this preface what I have said in the body of the work itself: that
there is no one subject upon which men, whether presumably or really
intelligent, are in a state of more hopeless, helpless ignorance
than upon that of the nature and history of English orthography. No
serious student of it can read the articles which appear in newspapers,
the communications sent to them, or the elaborate essays found in
periodicals, without being struck by the more than Egyptian darkness
which prevails. In nearly every one of these mistakes of fact not
merely exist but abound. Most of the assertions made lack even that
decent degree of probability which belongs to respectable fiction. Even
in the very few cases where the facts are correct, the inferences drawn
from them are utterly erroneous and misleading. Many of these articles,
too, contain mistakes of apprehension so gross that one comes to feel
that in the discussion of this particular subject the limits of human
incapacity to understand the simplest assertion have been reached.
Statements of this sort will be resented with all the venomousness of
anonymous personal vituperation. They have not been made, however,
without full examination of scores and scores of articles which have
come out in opposition to spelling reform. No difficulty will be found,
if the occasion demands, to substantiate their correctness beyond the
shadow of a doubt.

The various chapters contained in this volume follow one another in
logical sequence. But I have also sought to make each of them, in a
way, independent of the others, and therefore complete in itself. This
has necessitated, in a very few cases, the repetition of statements
important only for the immediate understanding of the particular
subject. I may venture to add that I have taken great pains to make the
numerous details scattered through the volume absolutely correct, so
that he who quarrels with the conclusions reached may have no cause to
question the facts upon which they are based. If in the immense mass
of these found here I have made anywhere a slip, I shall be grateful
for the detection of it, and none the less so if it come from the most
hostile source. In this subject it is the exact truth of which we are
in pursuit, and a real though not a fancied exposure of error is to be
welcomed gladly.

The movement now going on for the simplification of English spelling
has in the few years of its existence attained a success which has
never been even remotely approached by any similar attempt in the past.
This has been due, in part, to the fact that an effort for reform
has for the first time had behind it the support of an organized
propaganda. Previous undertakings of the sort have been mainly the
work of individuals. It has likewise been due, in part, to the general
spread of knowledge as to the nature and history of words belonging to
our speech and the changes of form they have undergone. Something also
is due to the growing dissatisfaction, a consequence of this increase
of intelligence, with the anomalies and absurdities of the present
spelling, and the loss of time and labor, the waste of money, and the
mental injury which the acquisition of these perverse and perverted
forms involves. In our country, also, this feeling of dissatisfaction
has been strengthened by the consideration that something must be done
to remove from the path of that mighty army of foreigners landing
yearly upon our shores the greatest of the stumbling-blocks in the way
of the acquisition of the English language, necessary as the knowledge
of it is to any comprehension by them of the laws and institutions and
political ideas of the land they are henceforth to make their home.

Flourishing as the present movement assuredly is, it of course may fail
ultimately, as have several which have preceded it. It certainly will
fail if the propaganda does not continue to be vigorously pressed. It
will fail if proposals are adopted and methods are followed which,
while pleasing sciolists, do not recommend themselves to scholars.
That experiment has been too often tried to leave us in any doubt as
to the result. But whatever be the success or failure which may attend
the present movement, none the less am I confident that the English
race will not be content to sit down forever with a system of spelling
which has nothing to recommend it but custom and prejudice, nothing to
defend it but ignorance, nothing but superstition to make it an object
of veneration. An orthography which defies the main object for which
orthography was created cannot continue, with the advance of knowledge,
to be endured forever; for speaking with absolute reverence, it can be
said of it that, not being of God, it cannot stand.




                          ENGLISH SPELLING AND
                            SPELLING REFORM




                               CHAPTER I

                  CONFESSIONS OF A SPELLING REFORMER


It was my fortune in 1906 to be wandering in lands where English is not
spoken, when the President of the United States issued his famous order
in regard to spelling. Little, therefore, of the comment it occasioned
met my eyes, either at the time or long after; little of the clamor
it excited reached my ears. But after my return to my own country I
had the opportunity to look over no small number of the productions
which came out in opposition to it or in criticism of it, whether they
appeared in the form of reported interviews with prominent persons, of
leaders in newspapers or letters to them, or of elaborate articles in
periodicals. Most of these written pieces were anonymous; but some of
them came avowedly from men of recognized eminence in various fields of
intellectual activity.

It is with no intention of conveying the slightest suggestion of
disparagement of the authors of these various articles that I say that
not one of them contained a single argument which every person who has
paid even a superficial attention to the history of English orthography
has not been familiar with from the time of his first entering upon
the study. Even the jokes and sarcastic remarks of the newspapers were
hoary with the rime of age. In the case of these latter something must
be conceded to the inherent difficulty of the attack, without imputing
the feebleness of it, or the lack of originality in it, to mere
barrenness of brain. From the very nature of things it is hard to be
jocose upon a subject of which one knows nothing at all. A difficulty
of a like nature attended the production of the arguments which were
put forth seriously. They brought forward no new ideas; they simply
inspired recollections. It is only the fact that the writers of the
more elaborate articles seemed to regard the reasons they advanced as
novel, if not startling, contributions to thought, which to the mind of
the veteran of orthographical wars imparted a certain languid interest
to what they said. One comes, in truth, to feel a sort of respect for
the continuous incapacity to comprehend the exact nature of the problem
presented, which year after year of discussion does not impair, nor
affluence of argument disturb.

As in a number of the pieces I was privileged to see I found my own
name mentioned, I trust it will not be deemed a mark of offensive
egotism--egotism of one sort it assuredly is--if I take the occasion of
its appearance in these articles to state my views exactly on various
points connected with the subject instead of having them stated for
me inexactly by others. As confessions seem now to be the literary
fashion, it has seemed best to put what I have to say in that form.
The method of personal statement enables me also to bring out more
distinctly not merely the views held by many, but also the reasons by
which their course has been influenced. This consequently may serve as
an excuse for a mode of utterance which in the case of one so obscure
as myself would be otherwise out of place. Still, while the sentiments
indicated may be entertained by numbers, they are here to be considered
as nothing more than my own individual opinions. I do not pretend to
speak with authority for any person but myself, least of all for any
organization which has started out to carry on the work of spelling
reform. Some, indeed, of the particular views I express may possibly,
or, it may be, will probably, meet with the dissent of those who hold
in general the same beliefs.

Now that the storm and stress which followed the President’s order
is over, now that every one seems to have regained his equanimity, a
fitting moment has apparently arrived to consider the whole subject
itself without reference to the particular proposals of anybody or of
any organization. This can be done at present with a certain detachment
from the feelings which attended the heated controversy that then
prevailed--at least, with as much detachment as is consistent with
the possession of personal convictions. As this treatise, however,
is avowedly egotistical, I may be permitted, before entering into
the general discussion, to refer to a specific charge which has been
regularly brought against me as well as against others. It is all the
more desirable to do so because the consideration of it leads directly
to the comprehension of what is really the great mainstay of the
existing orthography. The charge is that in what I publish I do not use
myself the new spellings, save, at least, on the most limited scale. I
am inconsistent. My practice does not conform to my pretended belief.

Now it is very easy to retort the charge of inconsistency. No one
can use our present spelling without being inconsistent; for English
orthography is nothing but a mass of inconsistencies. Take one of the
commonest of illustrations furnished by those opposed to any reform.
You must not drop the _u_ from _honour_, they tell us, because that
unnecessary vowel shows that the word was derived immediately from the
French, and only remotely from the Latin. On the contrary, you must
retain the _b_ of _debt_ and _doubt_, though this letter hides their
derivation from the French _dette_ and _doute_, and gives the erroneous
impression that they were taken directly from the Latin. Still, it
is no real justification for one’s own conduct to prove that similar
conduct is pursued by those who criticise him for it. Let me bring
forward a few reasons which have influenced my own action, as doubtless
they have more or less that of others.

There is, first, the printing-office to be consulted. This has
generally an orthography of its own, and does not like to have it
deviated from. There is next the publisher to be considered. Even if
he is personally indifferent on the subject of spelling, he has a
pecuniary interest in the work he is bringing out. Naturally he is
reluctant to have introduced into it anything which will tend to retard
its success with the public. As he usually has the means of enforcing
his views, he is very much inclined to employ them.

But far more important, far more restraining than the attitude either
of printer or publisher is that of the public itself. It is not simply
indifferent: it is largely hostile. To many men a strange spelling
is offensive; by the ill-informed it is regarded as portending ruin
to the language. Necessarily no writer desires to limit his possible
audience by running counter to its feelings in a matter which has no
direct bearing upon the subject of which he treats. In my own case the
public--most unwisely, as it naturally strikes me--is none too anxious
under any circumstances to read what I write. Why, therefore, should I
convert what is in my eyes a culpable lack of interest into absolute
indifference or active hostility by rousing the prejudices of readers
in consequence of insisting upon a point which has only a remote
concern with the actual topic that may be under consideration?

These are reasons which I could fairly and honestly give. But,
after all, the main one is something entirely different, something
altogether independent of the feelings of others. With advancing years
knowledge may or may not come; but altruism distinctly lingers. As we
get along in life most of us lose the inclination to be constantly
engaged in fighting strenuously for the progress of even the most
praiseworthy causes. The desire wanes of benefiting your fellow-man,
while encountering in so doing not merely his indifference, but his
active hostility; of urging him to show himself rational while his
proclivities are violently asinine. Even the far keener enjoyment of
rendering him miserable by making evident to his reluctant but slowly
dawning intelligence how much of an ignoramus, not to say idiot, he
has shown himself in his acts and utterances--even this most poignant
of pleasures loses its relish if indulgence in it can be secured
only at the cost of much personal trouble. This is just as true of
spelling reform as of any other movement. In fact, indifference to the
propagation of the truth about it may be regarded as a species of that
very altruism of which I have just disclaimed the practice. If a man
seriously believes that it is essential to the purity and perfection
of the English language that _honor_ should be spelled with a _u_
and _horror_ without it; that _honorable_ should be spelled with a
_u_ and _honorary_ without it; that _meter_ should have its final
syllable in _re_ and _diameter_ and _hexameter_ in _er_; that _deign_
should terminate in _eign_ and its allied compound form _disdain_ in
_ain_; that _convey_ should end in _ey_ and _inveigh_ in _eigh_; that
_precede_ should end in _ede_ and _proceed_ in _eed_; that _fancy_
should begin with _f_ and _phantom_ with _ph_; that _deceit_ should be
written without _p_ and _receipt_ with it; if, in fine, spelling in
different ways words which have the same origin brings him pleasure,
why not leave him in the undisturbed enjoyment of this mild form of
imbecility? He will not be made happier by being made wiser.

It is natural, therefore, that the position of the man who has got
along in years should tend to be rather that of a looker-on than of a
participant in the strife. He feels more and more disposed to content
himself with approving and applauding the work of the younger and
better soldiers. My own attitude is, indeed, very much the same as
that once described to me as his by my dear and honored friend, the
late Professor Child of Harvard. He sometimes did and sometimes did
not employ in his correspondence the reformed spellings which were
recommended by the English and American philological societies. It
may be added, in passing, that these changes, with the weight of the
greatest scholars of both countries behind them, were in general
treated with almost absolute indifference; or, if considered at all,
met usually with the same unintelligent opposition as have the lists
put forth by the Simplified Spelling Board. “If I am writing,” said
Professor Child, “to one of these educated ignoramuses who think there
is something sacred about the present orthography, I always take care
to use the altered forms; but when writing to a man who really knows
something about the subject, I am apt not to take the extra trouble
required to conform to the recommendations made by the two philological
societies.”[1]

In not following my faith by my practice, I am perfectly willing to
concede that my course is not merely inconsistent, but unmanly. I
shall not quarrel with any one who calls it pusillanimous, and even
mean. Intimations to that effect have been made to me more than once
in private letters. These reproaches I recognize as deserved, and I
therefore receive them with meekness. But one of the reasons given
above for my action, or rather inaction--the hostility of readers to
new spellings--points directly to the one mighty obstacle which stands
in the way of reforming our orthography. It is, in truth, all-potent.
Singularly enough, however, it is so far from receiving consideration
that it hardly ever receives much more than mere mention.

The regard for our present orthography is not based at all upon
knowledge, or upon reason. It owes its existence and its strength
almost entirely to sentiment. We give it other names, indeed. We
describe the motives which animate us in big phrases. We talk of our
devotion to the language of our fathers, while displaying the amplest
possible ignorance of what that language was. We please ourselves with
the notion that in denouncing any change we are nobly maintaining
the historic continuity of the speech. As a matter of fact, we are
governed by the cheap but all-powerful sentiment of association. We
like the present orthography because we are used to it. When once the
point of intimate familiarity with the form of a word has been reached,
it makes thenceforward no difference to us how wide is the divergence
between the pronunciation and the spelling which is ostensibly designed
to represent the pronunciation. As little difference does it make
if the form with which we have become familiar not merely fails to
indicate the origin of the word, but on the contrary suggests and
even imposes upon the mind a belief in an utterly false derivation.
Such considerations do not affect us in the slightest. We simply like
the spelling to which we are accustomed; we dislike the spelling to
which we are not accustomed. No one who familiarizes himself with the
articles in newspapers and magazines written by the defenders of the
present orthography can entertain the slightest doubt on this point.
The arguments advanced amount to nothing more than this, that any new
spelling employed is distasteful to the writer because it breaks up old
associations.

Because hostility to change springs not from knowledge, not from
reason, but almost entirely from sentiment, it must not be inferred
that the obstacle it presents to reform is a slight one. On the
contrary, it is peculiarly formidable. So far from being a feeble
barrier to overcome, it is of the very strongest, if not the very
strongest. The fact that in numerous instances it is based upon
foundations demonstrably irrational does not in the least impair its
influence. In any matter of controversy we can fight with assurance
of success against beliefs which the holder has honestly, even if
mistakenly, adopted, because he deems them to be in accordance with
reason. Appeal can then be made to his intelligence. But not so in the
case of a belief based primarily upon sentiment. This is constantly
exemplified in controversies about politics or religion. But nowhere is
the fact more conspicuous than in the matter of English orthography.
To spell differently from what we have been trained to spell irritates
many of us almost beyond the point of endurance. We can manage to put
up with variations from the present orthography prevailing in past
centuries when we come to learn enough about the subject to be aware
that such variations existed. The writers of those times had not
reached that exalted plane of perfect propriety on which it is our good
fortune to live and move. But no contemporary must venture to free
himself from the cast-iron shackles in which we have inclosed the form
of our words without subjecting his action to our indignant protest.

It is vain to deny the strength of the feeling of association. Even
to those who have ascended out of the atmosphere of serene ignorance
in which it flourishes most luxuriantly, a new spelling is always apt
to come with something of a sense of shock. No matter how fully we
recognize the impropriety and even absurdity of the old form, none
the less does the sentiment of association cling to it and affect our
attitude toward it. As this treatise sets out to deal somewhat with
my own impressions, I may be pardoned the employment of a personal
exemplification of the point under discussion. German is, for practical
purposes, mainly a phonetic tongue. In modern times anomalies which
once existed have been largely swept away. It is merely a question
of a few years when they will all go; for, Germany being a nation of
scholars, scholars have there some influence. In studying the language
as a boy I learned some spellings now rarely used. For instance, _thun_
and _todt_ appeared then in the forms here given. Now I see the one
without the _h_, the other without the _d_. I recognize the propriety
of the action taken in dropping the unpronounced letters. But, while
my judgment is perfectly convinced of its correctness, for the life of
me I cannot get over a certain sense of strangeness when I come across
the words in their new form--at least, it was some time before I could.

How much, indeed, we are all affected by this influence of association
one illustration will make convincingly clear. In the sixteenth century
there existed an occasional tendency to spell _hot_ with an initial
_w_. It was an effort to represent the pronunciation of the word which
had begun to prevail in certain quarters. It did not drive out the
present form, but it existed alongside of it. It was a spelling to
which Spenser was particularly addicted. There are many instances of
the use of it in the _Faerie Queene_, of which the following may serve
as examples:

  To pluck it out with pincers firie whot.

  --_Book I, canto x, st. 26._

  He soone approached, panting, breathlesse, whot.

  --_Book II, canto iv, st. 37._

  Upon a mightie furnace, burning whote.

  --_Ib., canto ix, st. 29._

Now, at the present day, anybody would be either amused at the
appearance of such a form as _whot_ if one so spelled the word
ignorantly, or outraged if he did it purposely. But all of us in the
case of _whole_ are doing precisely the very thing we should condemn
in the case of _whot_. In the former of these words the initial letter
has now no more excuse for its existence than in the latter. _Whole_,
by derivation, is precisely the same word as _hale_. The only real
difference between these forms is the difference of vowel sound caused
by dialectical variation. They are both related to _heal_ and _health_.
The closeness of the tie between them all is brought out distinctly
in the phrase “whole and sound.” For centuries, too, the word had the
spelling _hole_. At a later period, like _hot_, it took unto itself an
initial _w_; unlike _hot_, it continued to retain it. Consequently,
we find exemplified in the two words the same old influence of which
we have been speaking. The very persons who would be horrified, and
properly horrified, at giving to _hot_ the spelling _whot_, would be
equally horrified at taking away from _whole_ a letter which, besides
being never heard in pronunciation, disguises the derivation; and the
recognition of this latter at a glance is insisted upon by many as
essential to the proper representation of the word as well as to their
own personal happiness. Here, as elsewhere, it is sentiment that rules
us, not sense.

It is unquestionably a distinct objection to the introduction of new
spellings that they have the temporary effect of breaking up old
associations. They consequently distract the attention of the reader
from the idea the word conveys to the word itself. This would to some
extent be true, even were he strongly in favor of the changes made.
Necessarily this is much more the case when he is bitterly opposed
to them, and honestly, no matter how unintelligently, fancies that
the fate of the language is bound up with the continuance of some
particular method of spelling. It is true that the frequent occurrence
of a new form on the printed page soon dispels the sense of strangeness
with which it is greeted at first. But to produce that effort speedily,
the reader must have an open mind. An open mind, however, is just
what the ordinary believer in the present orthography lacks. He not
only conceives an intense prejudice against the new form itself, but
he is sometimes unwilling to read the book or article containing it.
This, I have already intimated, is my main reason for not adopting in
practice several spellings which in theory I approve. Some of the old
ones to which many are devoted are too much for even the large charity
I entertain for the most undesirable citizens of the orthographic
commonwealth. But with others I put up because it is only by using them
that one can succeed in getting a hearing from those who most need
to be made conscious of the extent of their linguistic ignorance and
the depth of their orthographic depravity. It is the unbelievers that
require conversion, and not those who are already firm in the faith.
Accordingly, for the sake of a temporary communication between the
multitude which still continues to sit in linguistic darkness and him
who seeks to enlighten them, the old spelling may be properly used as a
sort of material bridge over which to trundle orthographic truth.

Necessarily, violent hostility to new spellings has always to be
reckoned with. It is by no means so intense or so wide-spread as
it was once. The language employed is now much more guarded. Men
have come to gain some comprehension of the boundlessness of their
ignorance of the subject, and have learned in consequence the wisdom
of putting restraint upon expression. Intemperate invectives will,
indeed, continue to be heard for a long while yet. Rarely, however,
will they proceed from any quarter where we have a right to expect
real intelligence. Doubtless belated survivals of the previous era
of good old-fashioned gentlemanly ignorance will occasionally thrust
themselves upon the attention; but these ebullitions now surprise
and amuse rather than irritate. A case in point comes to my mind. In
the latter part of 1906 I chanced to be in London during the period
when a violent controversy was going on between the _Times_ and the
publishers as to the prices at which books were to be offered for
sale. Every morning the columns of the great daily were filled with
letters on one side or the other of the matter at issue. Naturally
the participators in this bibliopolic tournament did not invariably
confine themselves to the special subject under discussion. Toward
the very close of the year a particularly precious effusion on a side
issue came from one of the correspondents.[2] His patriotic soul had
been stirred to the depths by the fact, as he asserted, that English
publishers had been guilty of using what he called American spelling
in their books. They had indulged in this heinous crime from the
ignoble lust of gain. He had declined, in consequence, to buy works he
needed and desired because they were printed in this fashion. “It is a
treason against our language and country,” he wrote, “and not merely
an offence against taste.” Further, the writer of this extraordinary
communication incidentally took pains to inform us that he had been the
winner of a prize essay at Cambridge University. Presumably, therefore,
he had reached an appreciable degree of mental development and was in
possession of some intelligence, however little his utterances might
seem to indicate it.

English scholarship has been too commonly distinct from scholarship
in English; but in these latter days it creates some little surprise
to find displayed publicly by a presumably educated man so gross a
manifestation of all-pervading ignorance as is exemplified in the
communication just mentioned. Undoubtedly there are still many who
think just such thoughts, if it be proper to dignify sentiments of
this sort with the name of thoughts. But it is really too late to give
them public utterance--at least, with the writer’s name attached. That
should be safely sheltered behind the bulwark of type. Better still,
such opinions should be reserved for the circle of one’s private
friends, either ignorant enough to sympathize with them, or too much
attached to the speaker to expose them to the comment of a more
intelligent, but also more unfeeling, world. Things, indeed, cannot
be said now that could be said with impunity, and to some extent with
applause, fifty years ago--and even twenty-five years ago could be said
with safety. During the last half century men have been running to and
fro, and knowledge has been increased. This is true in particular of
the knowledge of English orthography, of its history and its character.
So generally, indeed, have special students, and even occasionally
highly educated men, become familiar with the fact of the differences
between the spelling of the present and that of the past, and to a less
extent, with the changes that have taken place at various periods and
with the causes that have brought them about, that it startles one at
first to discover that there are quarters into which not even a ray of
this light has penetrated.

It is, however, no difficult matter to point out the grand source of
erroneous beliefs of this sort. It all goes back to the sentiment of
association. Unhappily this sentiment of association never receives
check or correction, because we familiarize ourselves with the
language of the past in the spelling of the present. In the matter of
orthography, the dead author is considered to have no rights which
the living publisher is bound to respect. His spelling is regularly
altered so as to conform to that of the particular dictionary which has
been adopted in the printing-house as a sort of official guide. This is
done even when the writer himself has felt and expressed solicitude as
to the form in which his words should appear. There was a period when
a somewhat similar treatment was meted out to his grammar. The great
works of the past underwent at one time more or less revision at the
hands of the veriest literary hacks, who made changes in the language
in order to reconcile it to their notions of propriety of usage. Idioms
had their structure sometimes modified, sometimes improved out of
existence. Sentences were recast in order to correct supposed errors,
and bring them into accord with the rules laid down in the latest
school grammar. This was particularly true of the latter half of the
eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth. Hence, editions
of the classic authors of our tongue then appearing can frequently
not be consulted with confidence by him to whom it is of importance
to ascertain, in any given case, the words, forms, and constructions
actually used by the writer.

This condition of things is no longer true of the grammar and
expression. Modern editors, as a general rule, pay scrupulous heed to
the exact reproduction of the words and constructions of the original,
whether these accord or not with their ideas of propriety. But as yet
there is little of this sensitiveness of feeling about the orthography.
It may be conceded that the matter is not in itself so important for
a certain class of readers. The expression, after all, is the vital
concern. Accordingly, in a work designed for the use of the great
body of men, it may not be desirable to reproduce peculiarities of
orthography so numerous and so variant from present use as to interfere
with ease of reading, or distract attention from the thought to the
form of the words in which the thought is clothed. While, therefore,
the reproduction of the exact spelling of a classic work is essential
to the educated man who desires to be acquainted with the history of
the speech, it is of but subsidiary importance to perhaps a majority of
ordinary readers. Even an author so late as Shakespeare would hardly
have been the popular writer he is had the mass of men been compelled
to read him in the spelling in which his works originally appeared.
Something has undoubtedly been lost by conforming his orthography to
that of the present time, but doubtless much more has been gained in
the wider reading his works have received in consequence.

Considerations of this sort do not apply to works designed strictly for
the specialist and the highly educated. But even in the case of the
great mass of men they do not apply to works which have been published
since English orthography fell under the sway of the printing-house.
The variations from the existing forms are indeed increasingly numerous
the farther we go back; but even where they most prevail they are not
really large in number or serious in character. Certainly they would
not present to an intelligent human being the slightest obstacle
to ease of reading or of comprehension. Hence, we have a right to
demand that the few variations which exist should be reproduced both
in their integrity and their entirety; that an edition of an author
belonging to these later periods should represent his spelling as well
as his grammar. In the vast majority of instances--excluding avowed
reprints--this is not now the case. In the matter of orthography,
rarely do editors or publishers have any conscience. The works of
the past, even of the immediate past, are presented to us not in the
spelling of the past, but in that of the present.

Hence, there is no occasion for surprise that such pitiful exhibitions
of ignorance are so constantly displayed by men from whom we should
naturally expect better things. The large majority of even cultivated
readers do not see the words used by any great author of the past
in the way in which he himself spelled them. They see them only as
the modern printer chooses to spell them for him. It is, therefore,
not surprising that the existing orthography should come to seem to
such men not the comparatively late creation it is, but as something
which has about it all the flavor of antiquity. As an inevitable
result, there has been further imparted to it the odor of sanctity.
Ignorance is recognized everywhere as a mother of devotion. Nowhere
has there been a more striking manifestation of this truth than in
the case of our spelling. The adoring worship of it seems to be more
widely diffused in England than in America--at least, it is there more
shameless in the exhibition of its lack of knowledge, though that is
saying a good deal. We have all of late been made familiar with the
somewhat unfortunate remark of an English writer, that the spelling
of Shakespeare was good enough for him. Now an assertion of this sort
would be worthless as an argument, even were it based upon a foundation
of ascertained fact. We do not deprive ourselves of existing
facilities of any sort, because they were not only unused, but were
unheard of in the time of Queen Elizabeth. No one now feels himself
under the necessity of refraining from making a rapid trip to Stratford
by rail because Shakespeare was compelled to journey thither slowly and
laboriously over the wretchedest of roads.

But in this instance an argument, worthless in itself, is made
even more worthless, if possible, because the facts upon which it
is presumed to be founded do not exist. Shakespeare flourished in
a period when no eager desire existed for the maintenance of any
strict orthographic monopoly. Within certain well-defined limits
every one spelled pretty much as he pleased. Hence, the same word
cannot infrequently be found in his writings, and in those of
his contemporaries, with marked diversities of form. His usage,
furthermore, differed in some cases entirely from any known to the
modern world. But if his printed works fairly represent his practice,
he evinced in many instances a perverse preference for what the
semi-educated call American spelling. Let us test the truth of this
last assertion by examining the attitude he assumed in a matter about
which an orthographic controversy has been raging for centuries.
This is the case of certain words which, according to one method of
spelling, end in _er_, according to the other, in _re_.

As regards orthography, these words naturally divide themselves into
two classes. In the first of these the termination is preceded by _c_.
When this is the case the words fall under the influence of a general
principle regulating pronunciation--so far as general principles can
be said to regulate anything in English. According to it, _c_ before
the vowel _e_ assumes the sound of _s_. The words of this particular
class which Shakespeare uses are _acre_, _lucre_, and _massacre_. Were
they made to end in _er_, they would have to come into conflict with
the rule just mentioned. As a result they would mislead, as to their
proper pronunciation, those who saw them for the first time. Under
present conditions, they therefore cannot well undergo any change. The
only way out of the difficulty would be to substitute _k_ for _c_. Such
a course we have taken, for instance, in the case of the word _joke_.
This comes from the Latin _joc-us_ with the same meaning. At its first
introduction into the speech, in the latter part of the seventeenth
century, it was spelled _joque_ or _joc_. It finally gave up the _c_
of the original and substituted for it _k_. On the other hand, in the
adjective _jocose_, we retain the letter of the primitive which we
have discarded in the noun.

This state of things is modern, because in Anglo-Saxon _c_ had always
the sound of _k_. Consequently, in _æcer_, the original of our word
_acre_, there was neither difficulty nor confusion created by the
employment of the letter. All this, however, was changed by the Norman
Conquest. The pronunciation of _c_ was in consequence affected, as
it still is, by a following _e_. The result was that for a long time
_k_ was largely substituted in this particular word for the original
letter. But in the fourteenth century the present method of spelling it
came into fashion. It has remained in fashion ever since. The earlier
form maintained itself for a while as of equal authority. It, indeed,
died out slowly and reluctantly; but it died at last. In the collected
edition of Shakespeare’s plays, which appeared in 1623, _acre_ was
practically the only recognized spelling. The word occurs in this
work just seven times. In one instance only does the older form crop
up. When Hamlet tells Laertes, “Let them throw millions of acres on
us,” the word is spelled _akers_.[3] In a similar way Bacon in his
_Advancement of Learning_ uses _lukar_ for _lucre_. But examples of
practices such as these are exceptional.

Consideration of a like sort does not, however, apply to the words
of the second class to be considered. There are several of these now
found with the ending _er_ or _re_ which do not appear in Shakespeare’s
writings. Conspicuous among those not used by him are _fibre_ or
_fiber_, _miter_ or _mitre_, _niter_ or _nitre_, _sabre_ or _saber_,
_specter_ or _spectre_. But the words of this second class which
actually occur are more numerous than those of the first class. The
most common ones employed by him, about which variation of usage now
prevails, are _center_ or _centre_, _luster_ or _lustre_, _meager_ or
_meagre_, _meter_ or _metre_, _scepter_ or _sceptre_, _sepulcher_ or
_sepulchre_, _theater_ or _theatre_. It becomes a matter, therefore, of
some interest to discover which of these forms must be chosen by the
writer who professes that Shakespeare’s spelling is good enough for
him. The evidence afforded by the printed page--in this case the only
evidence that can be secured--is accordingly given in the following
paragraph.

Take the spelling of the words just mentioned as it is found in the
folio of 1623. _Center_ appears precisely twelve times in that volume.
It is never spelled with _re_. In ten instances it has the termination
_er_. Once the form _centry_ is found, and once _centure_. _Meager_
occurs five times. In every instance it ends in _er_. This similar
statement may be made of _meter_, which is used but twice. In both
these cases it has the termination _er_. _Scepter_ is a word found
far more frequently. It appears just thirty-five times.[4] Not once
does it have the ending _re_; it is invariably _er_. The case is not
essentially different with _sepulcher_. Thirteen times it occurs;
eleven times with the termination _er_, twice with the termination
_re_.[5] About the theater Shakespeare may be supposed to have had some
knowledge. The word itself appears but six times in his plays. But even
in these few instances he seems to have felt a perverse preference
for the spelling in _er_ over that in _re_. The former occurs just
five times, the latter but once. The only consolation left for him who
combines devotion to Shakespeare with devotion to the ending in _re_
is found in the word spelled _lustre_ or _luster_. It appears exactly
thirteen times. Seven times it is spelled the former way, six times the
latter.

Spellings of this sort, it may be added, are far from being limited
to Shakespeare’s age. They were followed by many writers much later.
Modern editions, to which we are accustomed, do more, as already
intimated, than hide the fact from our eyes. They actually prevent, for
most of us, the possibility of discovering it. Hence, the prevalent
lack of intelligence, with its consequent hardiness of assertion, not
unfrequently accompanied with the feeling of distress and repulsion
at any proposal for change. He whose heart is affected with sadness
at the sight of the spelling _theater_ for _theatre_ or _center_ for
_centre_, and whose prophetic soul foresees disaster as the result of
the general adoption of such forms, would find his grief alleviated and
his fears dispelled if he could only extend his knowledge sufficiently
to familiarize himself with the real practice of the past, instead of
getting his notions about it from the falsifications of the present.
Examine, for instance, in regard to the very usage under discussion,
the first edition of Addison’s _Remarks on Italy_. This work was
brought out in 1705 by Tonson, the most noted publisher of the time.
The same variation which prevailed earlier in the use of these
terminations still continued. But there continued also a distinct
preference for _er_ over _re_. _Fiber_, _salt-peter_, and _scepter_
are found as here printed. _Theater_ occurs seven times, six times as
_theater_, and once--in poetry--as _theatre_. _Amphitheater_ is used
ten times in all. Once its plural is spelled _amphitheatres_; in the
other nine instances it has the ending in _er_.[6] On the other hand,
_meager_ and _niter_, both of which are used once, and _sepulcher_,
which appears five times, have the termination _re_. Or, take
_Gulliver’s Travels_, which came out more than a score of years later.
The first edition of the work was published in 1726 in two volumes. In
it _center_ is found just seven times. In every instance it is spelled
with the ending _er_, not once in _re_. _Meager_, it may be added,
occurs twice, and in both cases as here spelled.[7] But here again, as
in most other works, modern reprints falsify the record.

In these instances it is easy enough to exaggerate the importance
of the evidence furnished on this point; at least, it is so in the
case of the Elizabethans. In any fair discussion of orthography, two
things are to be kept in view. One is to ascertain the exact facts;
the other is not to get from them erroneous impressions. Let us go
back, for instance, to Shakespeare and his spelling of words with the
endings _er_ or _re_. It is not in the least desirable to attribute
to him feelings which he never had, nor even dreamed of having. Like
his contemporaries, he found two forms of these words in use. Like
them, he attached no particular sanctity to either. He unquestionably
felt himself at liberty to use both. All, therefore, that one can
positively say in the case of these words is that if Shakespeare had
any preference, it was manifestly in favor of the termination in _er_.

If it be urged that the plays published after his death do not
represent either his opinion or his practice, it is fair to say in
reply that a like condition of things is revealed in the minor poems.
All of these appeared in his lifetime. Over the printing of some of
them he may have had no oversight. For the spelling of the words found
in these he cannot, therefore, be held directly responsible. Still,
the two most important of them--_Venus and Adonis_ and _The Rape of
Lucrece_--must, in going through the press, have passed under his own
eye. In consequence, the spelling employed could not have failed to
receive his tacit sanction at least, if even, what is more probable,
he was not himself primarily responsible for it. Yet in these very
two poems _scepter_[8] and _sepulcher_[9] are found so spelled in
the original editions. A like statement may be made of this last
word in the single instance in which it occurs in the _Sonnets_.[10]
Further, the same thing may be said about his use of _center_[11] and
_meter_.[12] Each appears but once, but it appears as just given. On
the other hand _meager_, which is found five times in this form in
the plays, has the spelling _meagre_[13] in its solitary occurrence
in the poems. For neither one of these forms is Shakespeare likely to
have felt any decided preference. Still, he could not have failed to
see that there was no more reason for the spelling _meagre_ instead of
_meager_ than there was for _eagre_ in place of _eager_, or, to adopt
the more common earlier orthography, _egre_.

Besides these words there were two others of the class considered,
about which variation of usage existed or exists. Because of their
single occurrence in his writing, their spelling can be regarded of
importance only as indicating tendency. Othello, in his account of his
life, speaks of “antres vast and deserts idle,” as it is found in all
modern editions. But Shakespeare has no such form as _antres_. In the
first folio it is _antars_; in the quarto of 1622 it is _antrees_,
indicating a difference of pronunciation. The word itself is rare at
any period. Its later use, so far as it has been used at all, is due
to its appearance in a favorite play of the great dramatist. No one
among his contemporaries seems, so far as is now known, to have felt
it desirable or incumbent to resort to its employment; though later
investigations may cause it to turn up at any time. But the form in
which we know it is not due to Shakespeare himself, but to his editors.
There seems little reason for denying him the privilege of spelling the
word in his own way. There is still another term, now not uncommon,
which is found but once in his writings. But the villainous stuff which
Henry IV.’s ambassador told Hotspur was digged from the bowels of the
earth to destroy brave men, was not _salt-petre_, as modern editions
have it, but _salt-peter_ in the original.[14]

These are all the disputed words of this class which are found in the
poems of Shakespeare as well as in his plays, as also the number of
times of their occurrence. Facts of this sort are familiar, at least
in a general way, to all special students of our speech. But even from
the highly educated they are hidden more or less, and in many cases
hidden altogether. These see ordinarily nothing but modern editions
of the greatest writers; and in modern editions modern orthography is
substituted for the orthography which the authors of the past favored,
or at least endured. The result is that the feeling of association
which attaches to every word a particular form is never subjected to
the counteracting influence which would spring from coming even into
occasional contact with the earlier usage. The strength of this feeling
has in consequence become abnormal. From it has further developed the
singular belief of the orthographically uneducated that the present
spelling is somehow bound up with the purity of the language, if not
with its continued existence.

It is because I look upon this sentiment of association as the main
bulwark of our present orthography that I have always taken the ground
that it is only through a rising generation that any thorough-going
reform can ever be accomplished. It is asking too much of human nature
to expect a generation already risen to go a second time through
the fiery ordeal of learning to spell. Individuals belonging to it
will adopt proposed changes, especially those in whom conviction is
reinforced by the energy of youth or of personal character. Of these
there will be a regularly increasing number with the enlightenment
which is sure to follow discussion of the subject. But the action of
the great mass of even highly educated men will not be affected. This
state of things would probably be true of the spelling of any language;
but in one so defiant of all law as our own, the aversion to change
would increase in proportion to the lawlessness. We are not disposed
to give up what with so much toil we have acquired. Furthermore,
there comes to be in the minds of many a certain fondness for the
existing orthography because of its very irrationality, of its constant
unfitness to fulfil its professed aim of representing pronunciation.
Its uncouthness inspires them with the same sort of devotion with
which the lower order of savage tribes regard their gods. The uglier
they are, the more fervently they are adored.

In the case of a rising generation there are no such feelings to be
encountered. The soil is virgin. No prejudices are to be overcome,
no sentiments to be shocked, no customs to be changed. The reasoning
powers have not been so blunted by association that the mind looks with
favor upon what is defiant of reason. Furthermore, about the changed
and correct forms would speedily gather the same sentiment which has
caused the previous forms to be cherished by their elders. The younger
generation will in time do more than look upon the new spellings as the
only conceivably rational ones. They will wonder by what perversity
their fathers came to tolerate the old ones in defiance of reason. If
a child has been accustomed from his earliest years to use exclusively
the forms _vext_ and _mixt_, the spellings _vexed_ and _mixed_ will
not only seem offensive to him when he becomes a man, but it will be
difficult for him to comprehend the precise nature of the irrationality
which could ever have insisted upon it as a virtue that the combination
_ed_ should have the sound of _t_.

A risen generation, accordingly, cannot reasonably be expected to
adopt a new spelling. The most that can be asked of it is that it
shall not put itself in active opposition, that it shall let the task
of improving our present barbarous orthography go on unimpeded. This,
however, is the very last thing it is inclined to do. The fathers have
eaten sour grapes; they have no intention of keeping their children’s
children’s teeth from being set on edge. Yet there is plainly to be
recognized now the existence of a steadily increasing number of persons
who are disposed to consider this whole question carefully. In the case
of such men--upon whose co-operation the success of any movement must
ultimately depend--it is all-essential that the changes proposed should
recommend themselves by their manifest propriety or by the probability
of their general acceptance. They may be unwilling to take the trouble
to use these new forms in their own practice, even if convinced of
their desirableness; but they will be ready to cast their influence in
favor of their adoption by the members of that rising generation to
whom the spelling of certain words in certain ways has not yet become
almost a second nature.

The permanent success of any spelling reform, according to this view,
depends upon its adoption by a rising generation. To have it so
adopted, it must recommend itself to the risen generation as being
both desirable and feasible. Unreasoning ignorance, intrenched behind
a rampart of prejudice, can be ignored. Not so the honest ignorance
of those whose training naturally inclines them to favor what has
been long received, but who are not averse to consider the question
in dispute fully and fairly. In any case the changes proposed, in
order to succeed, must follow the line of least resistance; for they
have to encounter that peculiarly formidable of hostile forces--the
unintelligent opposition of the intelligent. The altered forms
recommended for adoption must, therefore, have at the outset some
support either in present or past usage, or they must be in accord with
the operation of some law modifying orthography, which has always been
steadily, even if imperceptibly, at work in the language.

It is because it does not conform to either of these principles that,
had I had anything to say about it, I should have objected to the
recommendation of the spelling _thru_. My reasons for taking such
ground would have had nothing to do with the abstract propriety or
impropriety of the new form. Nor could exception be taken to it on the
score of derivation. The original word, indeed, from which it came
was _thurh_. Later this appeared at times as _thruh_. No fault could,
therefore, be found with the alteration beyond the dropping of the sign
of the no longer pronounced guttural. It is not principle, therefore,
that would have come into the consideration of it, but expediency. I
should have objected to it solely on the ground that it is a violent
break with the literary past. Therefore, instead of following the line
of least resistance, it would follow the line of greatest. It would be
sure, in consequence, to excite bitter hostility and to repel support
from the other recommendations made. Its adoption into the list would,
therefore, not have seemed to me good policy. This is a view of the
matter entirely independent of my personal indisposition to favor vowel
changes in the spelling until a settled plan for the representation
of the vowel sounds has been agreed upon and accepted. Yet it is fair
to add that in consequence of the frequency with which the new form
has been made the subject of attack, the sense of strangeness and the
resultant hostility with which it was first greeted have now largely
worn away.

It has been asserted that hostility to the very idea of reforming
the spelling has largely its source in the erroneous beliefs, with
the prejudices engendered of them, that have come to prevail in
consequence of tampering with the orthography found in the works of
the past, and reproducing them in the orthography of the present. In
time, and with effort, the widely diffused ignorance so generated
can be trusted to disappear. But even when this obstacle is removed,
another of the same general nature still remains. It is, perhaps, full
as formidable. There is no reference here to the difficulty inherent
in the very character of our spelling--a difficulty that is far the
most serious of all. This is, however, a subject which will come up
for consideration by itself. The obstacle here in mind lies in the
very nature of the men of our race. It is an obstruction by no means
confined to them; only in them it is more pronounced than in the case
of other nations with other tongues. The English-speaking people, in
their attempts at carrying out any reform, are little inclined to act
logically. They do not place clearly before themselves the exact nature
of the evil they propose to attack, and then set out to extirpate it
root and branch, according to certain well-defined principles. On the
contrary, they work by the rule of thumb. They find a flaw here, a
defect there. They then proceed to remedy it as best they can without
disturbing and disarranging the rest of the structure. Accordingly, no
symmetry is displayed in the character of the alteration made and no
perfection in the result.

Still, about this method there are manifest advantages. Whatever
changes are effected are effected with the least possible friction, and
after the least possible struggle. They are brought about so gradually
that the minds of men are comparatively little disturbed by the break
with the past which has been made. There still remain relics of its
absurdities with which they can console themselves for what they have
lost. Consequently, the alterations, however much an object of dislike,
cause nothing of that intense hostility which attends any scientific
and, therefore, sweeping reform.

In this respect our race stands in sharpest contrast with that foreign
one with which its connections have been closest--which has often
been its enemy and occasionally its ally. The French mind, unlike
the English, is by nature severe and logical. It cares little for
precedent. It fixes its eyes upon principle. It is disposed to follow
any reform it accepts to its remotest conclusion. It drops without
hesitation long-cherished excrescences, brings order out of chaos,
even if in so doing it is forced to disregard traditions and override
cherished sentiments. We can see the attitude of the French mind as
contrasted with that of the English best illustrated in comparatively
recent French history. The Revolution was a period of storm and stress.
Things were then attempted which would hardly have been thought of, far
less tried, at any ordinary period. But the point here is that such
things could never have been carried out by the men of the English race
at the most extraordinary period. It is not merely that they would not
have been done; they would not have been contemplated. To unify France,
for illustration, it was essential, in the eyes of the revolutionists,
that the ancient provinces should be obliterated, so far as their
size would permit their entire effacement. They therefore cut up the
land into departments. In these the old boundaries were disregarded.
Sections of different provinces were brought into political union
wherever practicable. New affiliations were to take the place of the
old. The idea of federation was to be destroyed. The provinces were
to be made to disappear as living entities from the minds of men. In
place of them the department, a purely artificial creation, was to be
constantly before their eyes. Men were no longer to be Normans or
Bretons or Gascons or Burgundians; they were to be simply Frenchmen.
In diverting the thought of the people from the provinces to the whole
country, the reformers had no hesitation in uprooting the traditions
and common associations which the inhabitants of these provinces had
inherited from the past, and in running counter to sentiments which had
been the outgrowth of centuries.

It is safe to say that in the time of most violent revolution, no idea
of this sort would occur to the men of the English-speaking races. Even
in the case of the counties of Great Britain, where the tie is by no
means strong, it can hardly be conceived as undergoing consideration.
But contemplate the reception that would be given to the project
of breaking up the United States into a series of departments, or
provinces, in which the present boundaries should be obliterated, and
in which all the members should have, as far as possible, the same size
or the same population! Now there would be with us no advantage worth
mentioning in any such action. But suppose there would arise from it
advantages which every one would admit to be of the most immense and
far-reaching importance? Even in that case, imagine the favor any such
proposition would meet with, and the chances there would be for its
adoption. Yet this is something which revolutionary France not only
set out to accomplish, but actually did accomplish. She accomplished
it, too, not in the case of political entities which, as with us, had
often only a few years of existence, and at best but two or three
hundred, but in the case of provinces whose history went back to the
very beginnings of modern Europe. She overrode all local ties, all
provincial prejudices, in her resolution that her inhabitants should no
longer be citizens of Provence or Normandy or Brittany, but citizens
only of France.

Exactly the same thing may be said of another experiment then made. It
is practically inconceivable to imagine the men of our race, on their
own initiative, devising and setting up such a violent alteration of
all existing practices as was involved in the introduction, in 1799,
of the metrical system of weights and measures. There is no need of
discussing here its abstract superiority or inferiority. The only point
to be made prominent is that the English could not, or at least would
not, have gone at the problem that way. Even if they had solved it to
their satisfaction, they would not have thought of at once proceeding
to put into practice the conclusions reached. The French mind, clear
and logical, saw, as it believed, the advantage of a uniform system
of weights and measures. One method, for illustration, of weight
for gold and silver, another for drugs and chemicals, another for
ordinary objects, struck them as having no justification in reason.
They took advantage of a period when all ancient beliefs and customs
were on trial for their life to reduce these varying practices to
uniformity. They created a commission of men to study the subject. To
them they intrusted the consideration of it, and instructed them to
report the measures that ought to be taken. Once satisfied that their
recommendations were worthy of adoption, they did not, as would have
been done with us, pigeon-hole the report containing them. Instead,
they enacted them into law and imposed them upon the whole country,
whether men were willing to accept them or averse.

This is the way the French mind works, or, rather, is disposed to work;
for the things accomplished then could not have been accomplished so
suddenly, if even at all, in any ordinary period. But the English
mind does not act in that way. Just as it is in the French blood to
reduce everything to a system of orderly completeness, no matter what
inconveniences may attend the process, so it is in our blood to love
an anomaly for its own sake, frequently to extol it as something
desirable in itself. This difference of mental attitude between the
two races is made strikingly manifest in their treatment of this very
subject of spelling. A difficulty of somewhat the same nature, though
far less in degree, confronts the French as confronts the English.
Their orthography is wretched. It is not by any means so wretched
as ours. Still, it is bad enough to attract the attention of men of
learning and of those engaged in the business of education. The evil
was admitted. What should be the nature of the remedy? To what extent
should, or rather could, reform of the orthography be carried? These
are not revolutionary times, and things which are capable of being
carried through in revolutionary times cannot even be attempted now.
Therefore, one point assumed the place of prominence. This was not
what it was theoretically desirable to do, but what, under modern
conditions, it was practicable to do. Accordingly, as far back as 1903,
the French government appointed a commission to consider the matter.
It embraced some of the most eminent scholars. The committee made a
report, which was submitted by the government to the French Academy.
Disagreement arose, not so much on matters of principle as of detail.
A second commission was appointed to prepare a final plan upon which
the minister of public instruction could take action. Its report has
been published and its conclusions promulgated. They are not binding,
to be sure. Yet, with the weight of the government and the French
Academy behind them, it is merely a question of time when any changes
recommended will be adopted by all.

It is evident from this one fact that the desire to make the spelling
conform as far as possible to the pronunciation--the one object for
which spelling was devised--is far from being confined to the men
of the English-speaking race. Even when it cannot succeed in its
main object, it aims to bring about uniformity by sweeping away the
anomalous. The movement for spelling reform now going on with us is,
therefore, no isolated undertaking. It is simply part of a world-wide
movement in the interests of law and order. There is an intellectual
conscience as well as a moral one. On this subject the intellectual
conscience of the users of speech among all thoroughly enlightened
nations has now been distinctly awakened. The only peculiarity about
English is that the need of such an awakening is far more pressing
than in other tongues, and the difficulty of discovering the right
track to follow is far greater. Neither Italian nor Spanish requires
any sweeping change. For all practical purposes, these tongues are
phonetic. Irregularities can unquestionably be found, but they are
neither numerous nor important. Above all, they do not affect the
vital representation of pronunciation by giving, as with us, different
signs to the same sound and different sounds to the same sign. Their
deviation from the phonetic standard is confined to the retention
of unnecessary letters. This is a matter that can be grappled with
easily. On the limited scale it exists, it is not of much moment. Any
variations from the ideal can be easily corrected if the project is
once taken seriously in hand.

In German, the variation from the phonetic standard is greater than in
the two tongues just mentioned. As compared with English, however, it
is exceedingly slight. Even in those instances where it has different
signs to represent the same sound, it does not, as is the case with
our speech, make the confusion more confounded by giving to these same
signs the representation of sounds altogether different. But the public
mind is awake in Germany to the importance of this subject. Many of the
more marked variations from the phonetic ideal have already been done
away with by the action of the several governments. For, in Germany, a
nation of scholars, the control of educational methods is immediately
or remotely in the hands of scholars. These men, not satisfied with
what has already been accomplished, are at work to do away with the
anomalies that continue to exist. When once they come into accord over
the measures to be adopted and the changes to be made, it is merely a
question of time when their proposals will be carried into effect. The
various governments will do the work of promulgation and enforcement.
The reforms recommended will be embodied in the text-books and taught
in the schools. That action once taken, the whole work itself has
practically been done.

Unfortunately, none of the means just mentioned are practicable with
us. The administration of education is nowhere in England or America
really centralized, as it is in France and Germany. In those countries
any changes which have behind them the best expert opinion can be
carried through with comparative ease. The German government will
venture on any educational experiments which have the united support
of German scholars. In France the almost superstitious deference paid
to the decisions of the Academy will cause any orthographic changes
having the sanction of that body to be accepted by the great mass of
the community. Individuals may growl, but they will submit. More than
once the Academy has recommended reforms, and these have been adopted
because they were so recommended. About the middle of the eighteenth
century it altered the spelling of five thousand words. Perhaps it
would be juster to say that it indicated, in the case of a number of
these, what one should be adopted of several forms which were then in
use. No one would think now of going back to those against which it
then pronounced. When, therefore, the department of public instruction
and the Academy work together in harmony, their union is irresistible.
Once the reformed spelling is authorized to be taught in the public
schools, the simpler forms can be trusted to work their way by that
inherent strength of their own which comes from inherent sense. Of
course, objection will be made; but it will manifest itself in little
else but empty spluttering or impotent invective on the part of those
who mistake custom and association for reason, and fancy that the life
of a word is found in the form in which they are in the habit of seeing
it clothed.

“They order these matters better in France,” are the words with which
Sterne begins his _Sentimental Journey_. Any action of the sort just
mentioned is impossible with the men of the English-speaking race. We
have neither the machinery to use, nor the disposition to use it, if
we had it. There is nowhere, either in England or America, any great
centralized authority, literary or administrative, to which deference
if not obedience is felt to be due. With us in the United States
in particular, we have no national government which can authorize
examination of the subject, still less enforce any action. As little
respect is paid to the conclusions of scholars who have made the matter
a special study. With a great body of men the words of the veriest
ignoramus who is able to get access to the columns of a newspaper are
as likely to be heeded as those of him who has spent years in the
investigation of the character and history of English orthography. But
if the ignoramus is merely an ignoramus in this subject, if he chances
to be a man who has shown ability and gained deserved repute in some
other distinct field of endeavor, the authority he has justly secured
for himself in matters he knows a great deal about is transferred to
any pronouncements he chooses to make in a matter he knows little or
nothing about. In considering the construction or reconstruction of
a bridge or building, every one is willing to defer to the judgment
of experts. When, however, it comes to the consideration of spelling,
there is no one who does not have the comfortable consciousness that
on this question his opinion is distinctly more valuable than the
conclusions reached by the wretched cranks who have taken pains to
master the subject, and are necessarily hampered in the views they
entertain by the knowledge they have been unfortunate enough to acquire.

Therefore, as contrasted with other nations and races, we are at a
disadvantage. We have not the controlling influence of an academy. The
government cannot well take the initiative. If one party embraced it,
the other party would be fairly sure to set itself in opposition. This
would not be necessarily because of any dislike to the project itself,
but for the sake of making party capital. “If I were younger,” once
remarked Gladstone, speaking of the spelling, “I would gladly take
hold of this reform.” Had he done so, can any one doubt that whatever
scheme he proposed would have had arrayed against it all those who were
hostile to the views he advocated on other subjects, irrespective
of any feelings they chanced to entertain on this particular one.
Political machinery, so constantly used to effect reforms, is
consequently barred. In every English-speaking country the general
government cannot well take any action, except under the impulse of a
popular demand too wide-spread and too powerful to be resisted. There
is, furthermore, in this country a special difficulty. In America it is
not the action of the general government that is of importance, but the
independent action of the several states. Even if reform were carried
through in some of them, there would always be danger of discordant
measures being taken in others.

Only one resource, therefore, is left to the men of English-speaking
countries. It is by the slow processes of discussion and agitation. The
great mass of men must be convinced by methods which will convey to
the general mind the truths that are known now only to the few. They
must be made to see both the desirableness and the practicability of
change before any wide-reaching results can be secured. They must be
made to see the futility of the arguments by which men seek to bolster
up the pretensions of the existing orthography; the waste of time and
efforts involved in its acquisition, and even in its use. More than
all--though this is a matter little touched upon--they must be made to
recognize the actual mental injury wrought to the young by its present
condition. The accomplishment of this is not merely a great work, but
in English-speaking lands it is one peculiarly difficult. In other
countries it is necessary to convince those who have more or less
studied the subject; for in their hands lies largely the control of the
machinery of education. But with us it is necessary to convince those
who are unfamiliar with the subject, and who not unfrequently have had
their ignorance strongly reinforced by prejudice. In the multitude of
these is found no small proportion of the educated class.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] As this opinion of Professor Child has been questioned, I give here
an extract from a letter written by him for publication, and printed
in the _Home Journal_ of New York for June 21, 1882. This paper was
then engaged in gathering the opinions of scholars and men of letters
on the subject of English orthography. “One of the most useful things
just now,” wrote Professor Child, “is to break down the respect which
a great, foolish public has for the established spelling. Some have a
religious awe, and some have an earth-born passion for it. At present
I don’t much care how anybody spells, so he spell different from what
is established. Any particular individual spelling is likely to be more
rational than the ordinary.”

[2] _Times_, December 27, 1906.

[3] Act V, scene 1, line 269.

[4] Mrs. Cowden Clarke’s Concordance gives but thirty-four. She omits
the instance of its occurrence which is found in I _Henry IV._, act ii,
scene 4.

[5] The form _sepulchre_ is found in the folio of 1623, in _Richard
II._, act i, scene 3, and in III _Henry VI._, act i, scene 4.

[6] Addison’s _Remarks on Italy, etc._, ed. of 1705, _fiber_, p. 212;
_salt-peter_, p. 239; _scepter_, pp. 19, 124; _theater_, pp. 102,
155, 156, 433 (twice), 521; _theatre_, p. 50; _amphitheater_, pp. 57
(twice), 127, 176, 219, 224, 302, 345, 379; _amphitheatres_, p. 225.

[7] _Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World_, by Captain
Lemuel Gulliver, London, 2 vols., 1726. _Center_ appears in vol. i, pp.
60, 67; vol. ii, pp. 36 (twice), 37, 43 (twice); twice _meager_ appears
in vol. ii, pp. 63, 105.

[8] _The Rape of Lucrece_, l. 217.

[9] _Venus and Adonis_, l. 622.

[10] _Sonnets_, lxviii.

[11] _Sonnets_, cxlvi.

[12] _Sonnets_, xvii.

[13] _Venus and Adonis_, l. 931.

[14] I _Henry IV._, act i., scene 3.




                              CHAPTER II

                       ATTITUDE OF THE EDUCATED


The unintelligent opposition of the intelligent! I have specified
this as the most formidable of the active forces hostile to reform of
English orthography. No duty is imposed upon those who have that end in
view more arduous than that of propagating knowledge among the educated
classes. It is hard to enlighten the ignorant man. But as regards this
particular subject, his mind is practically a blank page. As he has not
mastered the conventional spelling, he not only has no knowledge of it,
but he is aware that he has no knowledge of it. But in the case of the
educated man there is nothing of this open-mindedness. In his opinion
he knows already everything about the subject that can be known or that
is necessary to be known. It is only within a very recent period that
he has begun to suspect his limitations. Only within a recent period
has he exhibited any hesitation about exposing to the gaze of the
public the scantiness of the intellectual wardrobe with which he is
clad.

This imputation of ignorance of the subject has been much resented.
Nowhere has the resentment been keener than where the ignorance
is manifestly profoundest. To the fact itself not any opprobrium
necessarily attaches. No educated man considers it discreditable to
lack knowledge of the chemical constituents of the food he eats, or
of the things he sees and handles every day. If, indeed, because of
his familiarity with these objects, he fancies that he is competent
to form a judgment about their properties and draws conclusions as to
their use, then his course becomes objectionable. It is exactly so
in language. Pronunciation, and the proper way of representing it in
spelling, and the ways in which it has been represented at various
periods--these are subjects which demand long and severe study before
one has a right even to state facts. Naturally, still less has he a
right to draw conclusions. He who presumes to sit in judgment upon the
questions in controversy without having undergone this preliminary
training, no matter if he possess ability, has little reason to
complain if his pretensions meet with a good deal of contempt from
those who have paid even a comparatively slight attention to the
subject. That his utterances are received with favor by a public as
ignorant as himself is no evidence of his fitness to discuss the matter
in dispute. It is simply proof of the existence of that wide-spread
belief in the community, that because a person may have attained
deserved eminence in some field of literary activity, about which he
knows a great deal, he is therefore entitled to speak with authority in
some other field of which he knows little or nothing.

This unintelligent hostility of the intelligent is an obstacle
peculiarly difficult to overcome, because it is based upon the
combination of the minimum of knowledge with the maximum of prejudice.
These characteristics frequently meet, too, in those who on other
disputed subjects have the right to demand respectful attention to all
they choose to say. To this class belong many men of letters--not by
any means all of them, and far more of them in England than in America.
Some of these have made themselves conspicuous by the violence of their
utterances, some by the extent of their misapprehension of the question
at issue, and some by the display of a store of misinformation so vast
and varied that one gets the impression that no small share of their
lives must have been spent in accumulating it. To many persons it does
not seem to occur that before discussing English orthography it is
desirable to equip one’s self with at least an elementary knowledge
of its character and history. As the acquisition of this preliminary
information is not deemed essential, there is little limit to the
surprising statements made upon this subject and the more surprising
facts by which they are fortified. The annals of fatuity will in truth
be searched in vain for utterances more fatuous than some of those
produced in the course of the controversy aroused by the President’s
order. There is a strong temptation to substantiate this assertion by
illustrating it from sayings and writings of those who took a part in
it opposed to spelling reform. But it is not desirable to impart to
the discussion of the subject a personal character by selecting such
examples from the utterances of living persons. That the statement
of the ignorance of men of letters is not unwarranted, however, can
be shown as well by bringing in the testimony of the dead. In this
instance it will be taken from an author of the past generation, of
highest literary eminence.

Many will remember an essay of Matthew Arnold on the influence of
academies, that panacea for all literary and linguistic ills so
constantly held before our eyes. According to him they raised the
general standard of knowledge so high that no one could wantonly run
counter to its requirements and escape with impunity. The force of
critical opinion would control the vagaries and correct the extravagant
assertions of the most learned. In the case of our own tongue he
adduced an illustration of the injury wrought to the language by the
lack of such a central authority. It was taken from what he told us
was one of those eccentric violations of correct orthography in which
men of our race wilfully indulge. The offender was the London _Times_.
That paper for a good part of the nineteenth century was addicted to
printing the word _diocese_ as _diocess_.

This act aroused Arnold’s indignation. It is clear from his words that
resentment for the course of the London _Times_ in this matter had long
been rankling in his bosom. A lawless practice of such a sort could
not have been possible, he felt, in a country where speech had been
subjected to the beneficial sway of an academy. Only in a land where no
restraining influence was exerted upon the performances of the educated
class could such a violation of linguistic knowledge and literary good
taste be permitted. Here are his words:

“So, again, with freaks in dealing with language; certainly all such
freaks tend to impair the power and beauty of language; and how far
more common they are with us than with the French! To take a very
familiar instance. Every one has noticed the way in which the _Times_
chooses to spell the word ‘diocese’; it always spells it diocess,
deriving it, I suppose, from _Zeus_ and _census_. The _Journal des
Débats_ might just as well write ‘diocess’ instead of ‘diocèse,’
but imagine the _Journal des Débats_ doing so! Imagine an educated
Frenchman indulging himself in an orthographic antic of this sort, in
the face of the grave respect with which the Academy and its dictionary
invest the French language! Some people will say these are little
things. They are not; they are of bad example. They tend to spread the
baneful notion that there is no such thing as a high correct standard
in intellectual matters; that every one may as well take his own way;
they are at variance with the severe discipline necessary for all real
culture; they confirm us in habits of wilfulness and eccentricity which
hurt our minds and damage our credit with serious people.”

No one will question the earnestness with which these words are
spoken. The difficulty with them is that they are at variance with
the severe discipline necessary for all real culture--the discipline
which forbids us to discuss magisterially matters we know nothing
about. Consequently, they are of particularly bad example because
of the eminence of the writer. What are we to think of the opinions
of an author who could presume to express himself in this manner on
what he called correct orthography? Where did he get his knowledge
of that somewhat elusive substance? How was he enabled to pronounce
authoritatively on the proper spelling of a word about whose origin and
history he had not taken the slightest pains to inform himself? Arnold
supposed that the London _Times_ may have derived _diocess_ from _Zeus_
and _census_. Where did he himself think it came from?

Still, as these words of his have been more than once triumphantly
quoted as an unintended, and therefore all the more crushing, argument
against spelling reform by a leading man of letters, it may be worth
while to give a brief account of the actual facts in regard to the
appearance of _diocese_ in our speech, and the changes of form it
underwent--so far, at least, as dictionaries of various periods
have recorded the usage. By so doing one may gain some conception of
the amount of research necessary to pronounce positively upon the
orthographic history of even a single word. He will further learn
to recognize the wisdom of refraining from the expression of large
judgments upon the correctness or incorrectness of a particular
spelling which are based upon limited knowledge. To clear the ground,
it is to be said--though it seems needless to say it--that the first
part of the word _diocese_ has nothing to do with Zeus, though one gets
the impression that its genitive _Dios_ was in some way associated
with it in Arnold’s mind. It comes remotely from a Greek word meaning
the management of a household. After its appearance in our language in
the fourteenth century, various were the forms it assumed. Students
of Chaucer are well aware that his spelling of it was _diocise_. But
it occurs but once in his writings, and then as a ryme to _gyse_, the
modern _guise_. Later, under Latin influence, and for phonetic reasons,
it became commonly either _diocesse_ or _dioces_.

Between these two forms the language seems finally to have made a
sort of compromise by recognizing the claims of both. It dropped
the _e_ from the one or it added an _s_ to the other, just as one
is disposed to look at it. Though there were other forms, _diocess_
became accordingly the standard. Such it remained for a long
period. But its triumph was slow and, comparatively speaking, late.
_Diocesse_ is the form given, for example, in Minsheu’s _Guide to the
Tongues_, which appeared in 1617. In Edward Phillips’ dictionary of
1658, entitled _A New World of Words_, it is _dioces_. But in later
editions--certainly in that of 1696--_diocess_ is the spelling found.
Such also was the form of the word in Bullokar’s dictionary of 1684;
in the _Glossographia Anglicana Nova_ of 1719; and in Edward Cocker’s
English dictionary of 1724--the only editions of these works I have
had the opportunity to consult. On the other hand, in Coles’s English
dictionary of 1713, it is _diocese_. This is repeated in the edition of
1717. It is the earliest instance I have met of the modern spelling,
though others may exist.

Before the publication of the dictionary of Dr. Johnson in 1755, the
two principal works of this character which the early part of the
eighteenth century produced were that of Bailey, and that of Dyche
improved and completed by Pardon. The former was the first to appear.
It indeed seems always to have outranked in popular estimation its
successor and rival. It came out first in 1721. Before the end of the
century it had passed through a very large number of editions. At the
outset its spelling of the word under consideration was _diocess_.
So it remained in the half dozen editions that followed. But after
1730 _diocese_ took its place, and held it during the whole of the
eighteenth century. On the other hand, Dyche’s dictionary, which
began to be published in 1735, not only authorized _diocess_, but
clung to it in subsequent editions. Later in the century--certainly
in the seventeenth edition of 1794--it permitted the alternative
spelling _diocese_. This practice, indeed, can be met much earlier. For
instance, in the second edition of Benjamin Martin’s dictionary, which
appeared in 1754, both _diocese_ and _diocess_ are given.

It was the choice of _diocess_ by Doctor Johnson that turned the tide
for a while in one direction. For the rest of the century it settled
the spelling, so far as the practice of most men was concerned. He
was followed by nearly all the later lexicographers. This was true in
particular of Sheridan and Walker. These two were widely accepted as
authorities, especially the latter. The edition of Walker’s dictionary,
which came out in 1802, just after his death, but containing his latest
revisions, was long regarded by our fathers as a sort of orthographic
and orthoepic statute-book. It still showed _diocess_ as the only
way of spelling this particular word. So did the dictionary of James
Sheridan Knowles, which was first published in 1835. It continued to
retain this form of the word in the editions of 1845 and 1877. It
is found even in the edition of Walker, as revised by Davis, which
appeared in 1861. On the other hand, Smart’s revision of the same
work, or remodelling, as he called it, was largely responsible for the
prevalence and general adoption of _diocese_. This dictionary was first
published in 1836. It had a wide circulation, and for a long time its
successive editions were regarded as authoritative works of reference.

This survey of the matter is by no means exhaustive, but it is
sufficiently complete to render certain the results reached. It shows
that a long contest went on between the two forms of the word, and
that the later gradually triumphed over the earlier. It shows too that
_diocess_, though slowly going out of fashion, continued still in the
best of use long after Arnold had reached maturity. As always happens,
indeed, there was a certain body of conservatives who refused to accept
what was in their eyes the new-fangled monstrosity. The ancient usage
was good enough for them. Among these the London _Times_, owing to its
position in the newspaper world, occupied a specially prominent place.
It not impossibly felt that in standing by the time-honored _diocess_
it was resisting an insidious attempt to ruin the language.

All, therefore, that Arnold needed to do, before expressing his
opinions, or rather his prejudices, in the matter was to learn these
easily accessible facts. To use his own phraseology, it was incumbent
upon him to let his mind play about the subject until he had fully
informed himself upon it. His failure to do this led him to fall into
the mistake he did. A note to the later edition of his essays conveys
the glad tidings that the London _Times_ has at last renounced the
error of its ways, and has succumbed to the authority of fashion. Like
the rest of us, it now spells the word _diocese_. But the irrevocable
printed page will continue to stand and bear perpetual witness to the
blunder of its critic.

One is not, indeed, astonished at the lack of familiarity with the
facts just recorded on the part of a man of letters. They lie outside
of his particular province. They are not, indeed, generally known.
Nor are they in themselves so exciting as to attract the attention,
still less the study, of anybody, without some external provocation.
Ignorance of them is, therefore, nothing discreditable. Indeed, we
may almost expect it from those who have made the study of literature
their pursuit in contradistinction to that of language. It gives
one, however, a sort of shock to find that this same ignorance has
been occasionally exhibited by linguistic scholars of the previous
generation. A kind of sanction is given to Arnold’s assertion by the
remark of Richard Gordon Latham on this same word _diocese_. In his
revision, published in 1871, of Todd’s edition of Johnson’s dictionary,
he observed under it that it was “once ignorantly spelled _diocess_.”
No wonder that the _Times_ succumbed to this combined attack of
learning and letters marching under a common banner of inadequate
investigation and erroneous assertion.

I have gone at great length into the consideration of this particular
example, not entirely from the eminence of the author who chose to
furnish it. As much were these details supplied in order to make
manifest how patient and protracted must be the study which will
authorize any one to pronounce decisively upon a question of disputed
spelling. As long as the advocates of the existing orthography confine
themselves merely to the expression of their prejudices and opinions,
they are comparatively safe, even though their prejudices have no
foundation in reason and their opinions have behind them no trace of
investigation. The moment, however, they attempt to fortify their
notions by illustrations and argument, they are lost.

This is the moral of the tale told of Arnold. There are circumstances
in which no amount of genius can make up for the lack of a little
accurate knowledge. It is not often given to an essayist to exemplify
himself a practice he vehemently condemns in the very paragraph
containing the condemnation. If academies really exerted the power
with which Arnold credited them; if they could exercise a controlling
influence over public opinion; if they could establish so broad a basis
of intelligence that men would be prevented from giving utterance to
crude and hasty dicta; if they could keep writers from palming off
upon the public the results of imperfect knowledge acting through the
medium of perfect prejudice--if these things were so, it is quite clear
that in this particular instance it would have been the utterances of
Matthew Arnold that would have been suppressed, and not the assumed
orthographical vagaries of the London _Times_. In Germany, where there
is no academy, but where there is a broad and lofty level of linguistic
intelligence, observations of a similar character would have met with
immediate and crushing exposure and censure. In England and America,
where there is a broad and deep level of linguistic ignorance, this
blundering statement has long been hailed by many as a proper rebuke to
the miscreants who are seeking to defile the sacred altar of English
orthography.

An extravagant outburst like the one just cited--it could easily be
paralleled from recent utterances--coming from a man occupying a far
higher position than any literary defender of the present spelling,
reveals what a fathomless abyss of ignorance and prejudice must be
filled up or bridged over before there can be even a calm discussion
of the subject by the mass of educated men. If we are unable to treat
with respect the utterances of great men who are capable of falling
into errors like the one just exposed, how can we be expected to be
impressed by the words of little men who cite these easily detected
blunders as an authoritative justification for their own hostility?
Because they deal with language as an art, they fancy they know
all about it as a science. There is no intention of conveying the
impression that men of letters are more remarkable than others for
erroneous assertions on this subject. As a class they are probably
less so. In their ranks, too, are to be found some of the most earnest
sympathizers with the movement for the simplification of the spelling.
These, too, stand in the first rank. It must not be assumed, therefore,
that those among them who have gained an unenviable notoriety by the
blunders into which they have fallen in opposing it are more ignorant
than other men. They have simply had furnished them by their position
unequalled opportunities to make their ignorance conspicuous.

Now, to any real student of the subject, it is evident that both
in French and in English the most conservative of courses has been
contemplated and taken, so far as any change in orthography has been
recommended. No attempt has been made to introduce phonetic spelling.
Any intention of that sort has been distinctly disclaimed by those
among us who have set the reform on foot. Yet it is a charge from
which they have been unable to escape. One of the most striking as
well as most entertaining features of the controversy that went on
was the persistent assertion of those concerned in the movement, that
they had no design or desire to introduce phonetic spelling; and the
equally persistent assertion of their assailants that it was the very
thing they were aiming to introduce. One side laid down precisely
what it sought to do. The other side denounced it for doing the
very thing it disclaimed doing. One side declared that it purposely
limited its efforts to the removal of some of the anomalies in our
present orthography, and the obstacles put by these in the way of its
acquisition. The other employed two methods of attack: on the one hand,
it inveighed against its opponents for going as far as they did; on the
other, it reproached them for their inconsistency in not going further.

Any one who has the slightest conception of what a reform of our
spelling on pure phonetic principles means will absolve those
now urging reform from putting forward any scheme of that sort.
It requires, indeed, a singular innocence of all knowledge of
this particular subject to make such a charge. Certain changes
recommended would, indeed, have brought particular words nearer a
phonetic standard. But if everything proposed were to be universally
adopted--and even ten times more--the real disease which afflicts our
orthography would be but partially alleviated. It would do little more
than set us on the road to a thorough-going reform. No one, indeed,
who comprehends what is required, in a language so lawless as ours,
to bring about a perfect accordance between orthography and orthoepy,
is ever likely to underrate the difficulties which stand in the way
of the establishment of phonetic spelling, even were men as eager for
its adoption as they are now hostile to it. In the present state of
feeling, therefore, no one need distress himself about its immediate
coming.

But why should any one distress himself at all? Little is there more
extraordinary to witness in these days of assumed general enlightenment
than the horror which many estimable persons seem to feel at the danger
of being devoured by this dreadful ogre which they call phonetic
spelling. They have no idea what it is, but they know from its name
that it must be something frightful. Now, written language was designed
to be phonetic. Its intention, however incomplete its realization,
was to represent invariably the same sound by the same letter or by
the same combination of letters. This idea lies at the root of the
conception of the alphabet; otherwise the alphabet would have had no
reason for its existence. To picture to the eye the sound which has
fallen upon the ear, so that it should never be mistaken for anything
else, was the problem that presented itself to the man or men who
devised that invention which, imperfect as it is, still remains the
greatest and most useful to which the human mind has given birth. To
represent a sound by one character in one place and by another in
another would have seemed to them as absurd as it would to a painter
to have the figure of a horse stand for a horse in one picture, and in
another picture for a different animal. Of course, in this comparison
the symbol is in one case real, and in the other arbitrary; but the
underlying principle is the same.

So far as the original invention of the alphabet failed to secure the
individual representation of every sound then used, the invention was
itself incomplete and imperfect. So far, again, as the characters
of the alphabet have been diverted from their original design of
representing particular sounds, it is not an application of the
invention, but a perversion of it to inferior purposes, and to purposes
for which it is not really fitted. One general statement applicable to
all languages can be safely made. So far as written speech deviates
from the phonetic standard, it fails to fulfil the object for which it
was created. It shows to what an extent the English race has wandered
away in feeling and opinion from the original motives which led men
to seek the representation of the spoken word by written characters,
that its members have come to look upon the perfect accordance of
orthography and orthoepy as a result, not merely impracticable--which
is a thoroughly defensible proposition--but as something in itself
undesirable, as something fraught with ruin to the speech itself. The
written word was devised to suggest the sound of the spoken word. Yet
this ideal is more than discredited with us; it is treated as if it
were in some way peculiarly monstrous. Yet all there is of value in
our existing orthography is due to what still survives of the phonetic
element. This is a condition of things which will be brought out fully
when the orthographic situation comes to be considered.

The real life of a language consists in its sounds, not in the signs
intended to represent them. The one is the soul of speech; the other
can hardly be considered a necessary bodily framework, for the former
could and does exist without the latter. In earlier times, when
language was learned almost exclusively by the ear, this fact would
naturally force itself upon the attention of every reflecting man.
But with the spread of education, when acquaintance with a tongue
is acquired largely through the eye, the knowledge of the symbolic
representation of sounds has come to predominate in the minds of the
men of our race over the knowledge of the sounds themselves. While all
of us are familiar with the one, but few are with the other. Ask any
person of ordinary attainments the number of letters in the English
alphabet. He will unhesitatingly answer twenty-six; though the chances
are that he will be ignorant of the fact that some of the twenty-six
are really supernumerary. But extend the inquiry further. Go with
it to the vast body of educated men, excluding those whose pursuits
require of them more or less the study of phonetics. These being
excepted, ask any single person belonging to the most highly cultivated
class--opponents of spelling reform to be preferred--how many are the
sounds which the letters of the alphabet and their combinations are
called upon to represent. Ask him how many are the sounds which he is
in the habit of employing himself in his own utterance. The chances are
fifty to one that he will be utterly at a loss what to reply. He has
learned the symbols of things; he has not learned the things themselves.

That this should be so in the case of our own tongue is not
particularly surprising. It is, perhaps, inevitable. The attention
of the men of our race has been more than distracted from any
consideration of the subject by the character of our orthography.
Their minds have been thrown into a state of bewilderment. As a single
illustration, take the representation of the sound usually termed
“long _i_.” This third so-called vowel of our alphabet is not really a
vowel, but a diphthong. Its sound is most commonly represented by the
single letter itself, seen, for instance, in such a word as _mind_.
But some idea of the uncertainty and range attending its use, with
the consequent perplexity to its users, can be gathered from a few
selected examples. It is represented by _ai_ in _aisle_; by _ay_ in
_aye_; by _ei_ in _height_; by _ey_ in _eye_; by _ie_ in _lie_; by _oi_
in _choir_; by _uy_ in _buy_; by _y_ in _try_; and by _ye_ in _dye_.
Or, reverse the operation, and see how many sounds the same sign can
represent. Take the combination _ou_, and observe the differences of
its pronunciation in the words _about_, _young_, _youth_, _four_,
_fought_, _would_, and _cough_.

English orthography, therefore, instead of teaching the
English-speaking man the knowledge and distinction of sounds, takes the
speediest and most effectual means of preventing his attaining any such
knowledge. It not merely fails to call his attention to it, it forces
him to disregard it, to look upon it as an element not properly to be
considered. He does not come to forget, he has never learned to know
that there is a particular value that belongs or ought to belong to any
vowel or combination of vowels. When he grows up, he is naturally ready
to despise what he is unable to comprehend. The educated class has
with us come generally to look upon the alphabet as a mere mechanical
contrivance. They have so largely lost sight of the object for which
it exists, that in many cases they are almost disposed to resent the
proposition that they should employ it for the purposes for which it
was created. It would be thinking too meanly of human nature to believe
that men would delight in this condition of things did they once come
fully to appreciate it. But to that point few of them ever arrive.
Accordingly, ignorance of the real evil disposes them to look with
distrust upon any attempt to remedy it.

In truth, as a consequence of the confusion which exists in the written
speech, the English race, as a race, has no acquaintance whatever with
sounds. It has largely lost the phonetic sense. One whole important
domain of knowledge, which ought to have come to it through the
spelling, has entirely disappeared from recognition without their
being aware of it. Examples of the prevalent lack of any conception
of the distinction of sounds and of their proper representation are
brought constantly to the attention of those engaged in the work of
instruction. But the comments and communications which appear in the
course of any controversy on spelling reform, especially those intended
to be satirical, furnish the most striking illustrations of this
all-prevailing, all-pervading ignorance. There is rarely furnished a
more edifying spectacle than the attempt made, in some cases by men of
very genuine ability, to write what they call phonetically. In every
discussion there are sure to come up with unfailing regularity certain
examples that indicate the density of the darkness in which the minds
of men are enveloped. Several years ago a series of articles appeared
in a Western periodical attacking the reform of the orthography. In one
of them occurred this observation: “We are asked,” said the author,
“to spell _are_ without the _e_, because the letter is not pronounced.
Very well: then drop the _a_, for that is not pronounced either.” In
the same spirit the writer went on to say that fanatical advocates of
change should denote the words _see_ and _sea_ simply by _c_--“spelling
only the letter sounded.”

Here was a person producing a series of articles on orthography who was
so utterly unacquainted with the primary elemental facts of orthoepy as
to fancy that the sound of r and of c by themselves is the same as the
name we give to those letters; who did not know that the name cannot be
pronounced unless a vowel precedes the _r_ in one case and follows the
_c_ in the other. Exactly the same examples were adduced in the course
of the latest controversy. It is perfectly clear that not one of those
who made use of them had the slightest conception of what was essential
to convey the representation of a given sound. Any arbitrary symbol,
pronounced in a particular way, seemed to them all-sufficient. Their
action evinced hardly higher intelligence than would have been shown by
considering the word _five_ as phonetically represented by the Arabic
numeral 5, which in all languages conveys the same meaning, and in all
languages has a different pronunciation. One characteristic there is
which denotes most distinctly the infantile state of knowledge that
still continues to prevail on the whole subject. By most men any bad
spelling is invariably termed phonetic spelling. That is all the idea
of the latter they have. The spelling of Chaucer would in their eyes be
indistinguishable in character from that of Josh Billings.

More than once have advocates of spelling reform been rebuked for the
arrogance manifested by them in their references to the inaccurate
assertions and loose thinking which largely make up the chatter of the
uninformed on this subject. On the contrary, much of this gabble seems
to me to have been treated with singular leniency. Especially has this
been the case when it comes from men who have shown knowledge on other
subjects and ability in other directions. These have too often missed
opportunities, which were fairly obtrusive, of remaining silent on this
matter. But no such forbearance is due to the rank and file of the
noisy intruders into a controversy they do not understand. There was
a writer who gravely informed us that it is an insuperable objection
to a change in our orthography, that it would make necessary a new
formative period in the history of the language. For fear that the full
force of this terrible indictment should be overlooked, he proceeded
to put the words containing it in italics. What possible conception
could exist in the mind of such an objector as to what constitutes a
formative period in the history of a language? Does spelling reform
introduce new words? Does it give new meanings to old ones? Does it
destroy existing inflections? Does it add any to their number? Does
it vary in the slightest the order of words in the sentence? Does it
cause the least modification of the least important rule of syntax? A
new spelling meaning a new language! Fancy a boy refusing to wash his
face, on the ground that if the dirt were removed he would not be the
same boy. Fancy a man objecting to putting on a new suit of clothes,
on the ground that by so doing he could never be again what he was
before; that the integrity of his character and the continuity of his
traditions would be destroyed; that he would no longer be the same
man to those who had known him and loved him. This is not a travesty
of the argument which has been advanced. It is the argument itself,
applied not to the dress of the body, but to that of the speech. The
men who hold such opinions are really in the same grade of intellectual
development as regards language, as in literature are those who fancy
that beginning a line with a capital letter is the one essential thing
which constitutes poetry.

But of all the educated opponents of spelling reform, I have to confess
that the most entertaining to me are women. As devotion to the present
orthography is a matter of sentiment and not one of reason, it is
perhaps not strange that some of the most violent opponents of the
present movement are to be found among the members of that sex with
which appeals addressed to the feelings are peculiarly potent. It
must not, however, be assumed for a moment that this characterization
is meant to apply to all women. On the contrary, among them can be
found not only many of the most earnest advocates of reform, but an
especially large proportion of the most intelligent and clear-headed.
This observation is particularly true of those of them who are
connected directly or indirectly with the profession of teaching. To
the hands of women, indeed, the business of the instruction of the
very young is almost entirely committed. They make themselves familiar
with the character of the orthography from the side of both theory and
practice. They have, in consequence, forced upon their attention, as
have few men, the absurdities and anomalies of our present spelling,
the unnecessary and utterly irrational obstacles it puts in the path
of the learner; the time and toil which must be spent, or rather
wasted, in mastering rules to which the exceptions are as numerous as
the examples, and in which exceptions abound to the exceptions. The
intelligent among them naturally come to know whereof they speak, and
to have decided opinions born of experience and observation.

But experience and observation of this sort have not been forced
upon the majority of even educated women. Acquaintance with the real
nature of our orthography is not, in their eyes, a matter of intrinsic
importance. Accordingly, in the case of those who feel intensely on
this subject and exhibit a virulent hostility toward reform of the
spelling, we can observe the peculiar mental effervescence which is
produced when the maximum of emotion is allowed to operate upon the
minimum of knowledge. With them the question is not at all one of
argument. It is entirely one of taste, as they regard taste; though
occasionally there seems to be an honest even if unfounded belief
that arguments have been employed. It is their sensibilities that are
outraged, not their reason. I confess to liking the attitude of these
opponents of spelling reform, and to receiving gratification from their
extremest utterances. They are entirely free from the sham in which
men indulge, of pretending to be influenced in their beliefs on this
subject by logical principles. Sojourning in that upper rarefied air of
sentiment in which common-sense staggers and reason swoons, there is
an indefinable charm in the irrationality they display in resolutely
ignoring facts they find inconvenient to consider and arguments they
disdain to comprehend.

No pleasure, indeed, can be conceived more delightful than in listening
to the discussion of this subject by its female opponents. As this
is largely a book of personal confessions, I may be permitted to say
that I like to hear them talk and to read what they write. They feel
about reform of the spelling as did in another way certain of their
high-born sisters who have left behind memorials of their experiences
when the great cataclysm of the French revolution took place. It was
apparently not the scenes of horror and massacre that shocked these
scions of noble families; not the victims carted in tumbrils to the
guillotine; not the fusillades which swept the streets and stained the
pavements with the blood of those who felt fighting for the old régime.
Nor was it the question of right or wrong, of relieving oppression,
of establishing justice. Not one of these things seems to have made a
particular impression upon their minds. What really affected them was
something altogether different. The revolution was in such bad taste.
Men like Danton and his associates did not behave in a gentlemanly
way. They were not really nice. Just so--if we can compare small things
with great--is the impression one gets of the attitude of many women
who are hostile to the new spellings proposed. Such may be nearer the
pronunciation. They may be nearer the derivation or some other old
thing for which nobody cares. But these new spellings are not really
nice.

This devotion of woman to the fixed orthography is largely a modern
sentiment. There was little of it in the past, either in theory or
practice. In fact, high position and sex were once largely regarded
as entitling those belonging to either to be exempt from orthographic
trammels. Richardson represents Charlotte Grandison as describing one
of her lovers as “spelling pretty well for a lord.” But in this same
particular several of the most noted women in the past have also been
defective. There was nothing then of the superstition of the sacredness
of the orthography which now prevails. They apparently did not deem it
possible to secure the leisure to make themselves as attractive as they
wished to be, were they compelled to waste their time in memorizing
the exact spelling of words whose forms they had the sense to see
exhibited no sense. As time went on their indifference not unfrequently
came to disturb those of their lords and masters who were getting to
be punctilious on this point. Swift, who in one way or another was
always in a state of anxiety about the English language, had frequent
occasion to chasten Stella on the subject. “I drink no aile (I suppose
you mean ale),” he writes to her under date of September 29, 1710. “Who
are these wiggs,” he asks again on October 8, “who think I am turned
Tory? Do you mean Whigs?” “Pray, Stella,” he says, in April of the
following year, “explain those two words of yours to me, what you mean
by _Villian_ and _Dainger_.” “R_e_diculous, madam?” he expostulated, on
another occasion; “I suppose you mean ridiculous: let me have no more
of that; it is the author of the _Atlantis’_ spelling.”[15] One infers
from this remark that the then noted Mrs. Manley was as notorious for
the scandalous form in which her words appeared in her manuscript as
she was for the scandalous meaning they conveyed when appearing in
print.

One could fill page after page with the extraordinary views on spelling
reform which have come from men and women of education and sometimes
of genuine ability. The controversy, indeed, which has been going on of
late has brought out more sharply than ever before the existence of the
singular situation which prevails in regard to it. The highly trained
expert opinion is practically all on one side; the large preponderance
of educated lay opinion is apparently on the other. Several eminent
men have taken part in the discussion in opposition to change. But in
all their ranks cannot be found a single one who would be recognized
by special students of English as entitled to speak with authority.
Not a single one of the latter class has come forward in opposition.
Some of them are very possibly indifferent; but so far as they have
spoken--and many have spoken--they have pronounced in its favor. If
there is among them one who entertains hostility, he is sufficiently in
awe of his professional brethren to deem it wise to keep his opinion
to the sanctity of private intercourse. No applause of the multitude
could make up to him for the condemnation that would be his from his
peers. By ranging himself among the opponents of spelling reform he
would be well aware that he would distinctly lose caste. He would be
placed in a dilemma on one of whose two horns he would be impaled. He
would be looked upon as guilty either of lack of knowledge or of lack
of judgment.

This is a state of things that could not well exist in the case of
any other subject than language. Nor, indeed, could it well happen
with any other race than the English, where on both sides of the
Atlantic ignorance of our tongue and of its history has been sedulously
cultivated for centuries. Accordingly, the raggedest of penny-a-liners
or the callowest of story-tellers considers himself as much entitled
to speak with authority on the subject as he who has devoted years of
study to its consideration. Of course, this is a state of things that
cannot continue permanently. In the long run the opinions of the few
who know will triumph over the clamors of the many who do not know.
Indeed, a distinct advance has already been achieved. The subject is
no longer treated with indifference. It calls forth hostile criticism,
ridicule, vituperation. Furthermore, certain things can no more be
said which were once said with smug satisfaction. We are now a long
way beyond that provincial faith in Worcester which permitted, fifty
years ago, so eminent a man of letters as Oliver Wendell Holmes to
remark that Boston had for one of its distinctions “its correct habit
of spelling the English language.” In these days an author of his
high grade would be saved by his inevitable association with English
scholars from perpetrating an observation so singularly crude. Views
of such a sort now find their home only in the congenial clime of the
remote rural districts. For slow as has been the progress in this
matter, it has been steady. In the immediate future it is destined to
advance at a much more rapid rate. The leading universities of America
are regularly sending out a small body of trained special students
of our speech. In the face of this steadily increasing number of
experts whose opinions are based upon adequate investigation and full
knowledge, sciolists will in time conclude for their own safety to
learn a little before they talk much.

Yet, neither now nor in the past has the advocacy of spelling reform
been confined to the specialists in English study. It has embraced
scholars of all lands who paid attention to our language or to some
form of its literature. Long ago Grimm pointed out that the greatest
obstacle to the predominating influence of the English tongue was
the character of its orthography. But without going so far back, let
us select as types of advocates of reform three representative men
of the generation which has just passed away. They are Professor Max
Müller, of Oxford; Professor Child, of Harvard; and Professor Whitney,
of Yale. Of course, these scholars were cranks--“crazy cranks,” if
you will. Much learning had made them mad--insanity from that cause
being something from which the critics of their orthographical views
feel the sense of absolute immunity. Of course, we know further that
professors are a simple, guileless folk, constantly imposed upon by
arguments whose speciousness is at once seen by the clearer vision of
the men engaged in the struggle and turmoil of practical life. To them
unhappily has never been given the easy omniscience which is enabled to
understand the whole of a subject without mastering a single one of its
details. Still, as a member of this unpractical fraternity, and sharing
in its intellectual limitations, I cannot get over the impression
that there are difficulties connected with English orthography which
even the very youngest newspaper writer cannot settle summarily, and
questions which he cannot answer satisfactorily offhand.

In truth, the real nature of our spelling and the real difficulties
connected with its reformation are not in the least understood by the
vast majority of the educated class. Otherwise it would be impossible
for men, sometimes of genuine ability, to give public utterance to the
views they entertain. One has only to read articles in magazines and
communications sent to the newspapers to gain a view both vivid and
depressing of the wide-spread ignorance that prevails. It is manifest,
indeed, that the nature of these difficulties is not always understood,
even by those who are earnest in their desire for reform of some kind.
Accordingly, before the subject can be discussed intelligently, some
knowledge of the general orthographic situation must be secured. The
irrepressible conflict that goes on in our speech between spelling and
pronunciation can never be really appreciated, save by him who has
mastered a portion at least of the details in which that conflict has
reached its highest degree of intensity.

To set these details forth is anything but an agreeable task. The
subject of sounds and the methods taken to represent them cannot, by
the wildest stretch of the imagination, be termed exhilarating. But
some notion of it must be gained by him who seeks to get any conception
of what must be deemed the main trouble affecting English orthography.
This is the reason, and to some must be the excuse, for presenting
the results of a piece of drudgery as wearisome as it is thankless.
The dose I shall try to make as palatable as possible; but there is no
disguising the fact that it is a dose. But it is only by swallowing it,
or something akin to it, that men can get any conception of the real
evils that afflict English spelling, and of the methods that must be
taken to palliate them; for in the present state of public opinion,
it is hopeless to attempt to cure them. To a consideration of the
orthographic situation the next chapter will therefore be devoted.


FOOTNOTES:

[15] Swift. _Journal to Stella_, December 14, 1710.




                              CHAPTER III

                      THE ORTHOGRAPHIC SITUATION


                                   I

                              THE PROBLEM

It is with a good deal of hesitation that I approach this part of my
subject. To treat it fully, to consider it in all its details, would
require a familiarity with the history of sounds, with their precise
values, and with the proper way of representing these values, to which
I can lay no claim. Though I have given some time to the study of this
branch of the general question, I am well aware that my knowledge of
it is not the knowledge of a professional, but of an amateur. It is
only when I read the attempts of the assailants of spelling reform to
write what they are pleased to call phonetically, that my own slender
acquaintance with this field of research looms up momentarily before
my eyes as endowed with colossal proportions. Fortunately, intimate
familiarity with this particular part of the subject is not needed for
the end had here in view. To point out the evils afflicting our present
system is possible for him who is unable to prescribe a remedy. This is
the special task which I set before myself in this section.

It is essential, in the first place, to have clearly before our minds
the nature of the problem with which we are called upon to deal. The
general statement about it may be and often is summarized in a few
words. We are told that in English the same sound is represented by
half a dozen signs, and the same sign is used to denote half a dozen
sounds. This is all true. Unfortunately, to the vast majority of men
it conveys no definite idea. It certainly would not bring clearly
before them much conception of the real difficulty. Some of them would
even be puzzled to explain what is meant here by the word _sign_.
Most of them have no knowledge whatever of the number and quality of
the sounds they use. This remark is not intended as a reproach. Their
condition of ignorance is due to no fault of their own. The existing
orthography does not content itself with hiding from the ordinary eye
all knowledge of phonetic law; it puts a stumbling-block in the way
of its acquisition. Accordingly, it does more than permit ignorance
of the subject; it fosters it. Men are not led to consider even the
most aggressively prominent facts of their own utterance. I have known
intelligent young persons, of much more than ordinary ability, who had
never learned as a matter of knowledge that the digraph _th_ has two
distinct sounds; that were _thin_ pronounced as is _then_, or _then_
as is _thin_, we should have in each case another word than the one
we actually possess. They had never confused the two in their usage,
but as little had they been in the habit of remarking the difference
between them. Consequently, when it was brought directly to their
attention, it came upon them as a sort of surprise. If a distinction
which lies on the very surface could so easily escape notice, what hope
can be entertained of gaining a realizing sense of those subtler ones
which abound on every side?

The first point, therefore, to be made emphatic is that there is a
large number of sounds in the speech and but a limited number of signs
in the alphabet. The number of sounds has been variously estimated. It
depends a good deal upon the extent to which the orthoepic investigator
is disposed to recognize differences more or less subtle and the
weight he assigns to each. In general, it may be said that usually
the lowest number given is thirty-eight, and the highest forty-four. A
very common estimate puts them at forty-two. Exactness on this point
is not necessary for the purpose here aimed at, and for the sake of
convenience the whole number of sounds will be temporarily assumed
to be forty, more or less. To represent these forty sounds we have
nominally twenty-six letters. Really we have but twenty-three. Either
_c_ or _k_ is supernumerary, as are also _x_ and _q_.

Here, then, lies the initial difficulty. The Roman alphabet we have
adopted has not a sufficient number of letters to do the duty required
of it. For us its inability has been further aggravated by the loss
of two signs which the language had originally, or acquired early in
its history. For the disappearance of these there was later in another
quarter a partial compensation in the differentiation of _i_ and _j_,
and of _u_ and _v_. Of the two vanished signs one was a Rune, called
“thorn” or the “thorn letter,” þ, the other a crossed _d_, represented
by ð. They were or could be used to represent the surd or hard initial
sound heard in _thin_ just mentioned, and the corresponding sonant or
soft sound heard in _then_. These two letters, unknown to the Roman
alphabet, were allowed to die out of general use in the fifteenth
century. Of both the digraph _th_ took the place. Yet in one way the
so-called thorn letter has left behind a memorial of itself. Its
form had something of a resemblance to the black-letter character
_y_. Consequently, when “thorn” ceased to be used, _y_ was at times
substituted for it. Especially was this true in the case of the words
_the_ and _that_. These were frequently printed as _yᵉ_ and _yᵗ_. This
form of the latter word disappeared after a while, not merely from use,
but practically from remembrance. _Ye_, however, in the sense of _the_,
but with its initial letter given the sound of _y_, is fondly cherished
and sometimes employed by certain persons, who indulge in the delusion
that by so doing they are writing and talking Old English.

The use of this one digraph to represent these two distinct sounds
inevitably tends to create uncertainty of pronunciation, if not to
produce confusion. We can see this fact exemplified in the case of such
words as _tithe_ and _path_ and _oath_ and _mouth_. In these _th_ has
in the singular the surd sound, in the plural the sonant. The proper
way of pronouncing them has therefore to be learned carefully in each
individual instance, for there is nothing in the spelling to indicate
it. Usage in truth is very fluctuating with respect to some of the
words in which this digraph appears. In consequence, the question of
their pronunciation begets at times much controversy. Still, compared
with the uncertainty attending other signs, the perplexities caused by
this are of slight importance.

The lack of a sufficient number of signs to indicate the sounds is
therefore the first difficulty to be encountered. But this is a defect
which English shares with several tongues which have adopted the Roman
alphabet. There is another characteristic which belongs to our language
exclusively. This is the progressive movement which has gone on in
the case of some of the vowel-sounds. In the historic development of
English pronunciation several of these have lost their original values.
This has caused them not merely to deviate from the sounds they once
had in our own speech, but has also brought them out of harmony with
those of the cultivated tongues of modern Europe. In none of these
have the original values experienced any such disturbance. Such a
condition of things is so peculiar to our language, it complicates
the whole orthographic situation so thoroughly, that it demands first
consideration in any discussion of the various problems that need to be
solved. Let us give briefly, then, the most important facts in regard
to the changes which have taken place in the history of these sounds.


                                  II

                       MOVEMENT OF VOWEL-SOUNDS

The first vowel-sound of the alphabet--the _a_ heard in _father_ and
_far_--has been aptly styled “the fundamental vowel-tone of the human
voice.” But the noticeable fact about it in English is that it has
not only gone largely out of use already, but that it tends to go out
of use more and more. Once the most common of articulate utterances,
it has now become one of the rarest. In reducing the employment of
it English has gone beyond all other modern cultivated tongues. The
decline in its use has been steady. “In the Sanskrit,” says Whitney,
“in its long and short forms it makes over seventy per cent. of the
vowels and about thirty per cent. of the whole alphabet.” In examining
his own utterance he rated the frequency of its occurrence at a
little more than half of one per cent. This may be taken as fairly
representative of the fortunes which have generally befallen the sound.
Different parts of the English-speaking world preserve it, indeed, in
different degrees. In Great Britain--if I can take as typical of all
persons the pronunciation of it furnished to my own ears by a few--it
is retained more fully than in the United States. But even there it has
for a long period been disappearing. There is no reason to suppose that
with our present orthography this process will not continue to go on.

The loss of this sound would assuredly be a great calamity to the
speech. The coming of that day may be distant; it is to be hoped
that it will never come at all. Yet owing to the incapacity of our
orthography to represent pronunciation strictly, and therefore hold it
fast permanently, the sound is certainly in danger of following to the
very end the road on which it has long been travelling. It shows every
sign of steady though slow disappearance. Once it was heard generally
in many classes of words where it is now never heard at all. Such, for
instance, was the case when _a_ was followed by _n_, as in _answer_,
_chance_, _dance_, _plant_; by _f_, as in _after_; by _s_, as in
_grass_, _glass_, _pass_; by _st_, as in _last_ and _vast_. More than
a century ago the lexicographer Walker contended that this sound must
formerly have been always heard in these and such like words, because
it was “still the sound given to them by the vulgar, who are generally
the last to alter the common pronunciation.” There can be little doubt
of the fact. In truth, Doctor Johnson distinctly specified _rather_,
_fancy_, _congratulate_, _glass_ among others as having it. Walker
added that “the short _a_ in these words”--those mentioned above--“is
now the general pronunciation of the polite and learned world.” Hence,
he felt justified in asserting that the ancient sound “borders very
closely on vulgarity.”

This same result is showing itself in the instances where the vowel is
followed by other letters or combinations of letters. Before _lf_ and
_th_--which can be illustrated respectively by _calf_, _half_, and by
_path_, _bath_--the original sound, once generally heard, has given way
largely and is still giving way. There are certainly many parts of the
English-speaking world where the older pronunciation of it would be
the exception and not the rule. The most effective agent in retaining
it is a following _r_. In this case the sound is heard in no small
number of words, as may be seen, for illustration, in _bar_ and _car_.
Another agency working for its retention, though far less powerful
than the preceding, is a following _l_, as in _balm_ and _calm_. But
in this second case the sound is even now threatened with extinction.
It exhibits in many places weakness of hold upon the utterance. Hence,
it may come to take the road already trodden by other words in which
it once showed itself. In the case of some of these, as a result of
diminishing use, the sound, when heard, for illustration, in words like
_half_ and _calf_, is already looked upon by many as an affectation.
Should such a feeling about it come not only to exist but to prevail
when the vowel is followed by _lm_, its doom would be sealed. To
hear _psalm_ pronounced as the proper name _Sam_ is still hateful to
the orthoepically pure. Such a usage can as yet be politely termed a
provincialism, or, insultingly, a vulgarism. Yet against the levelling
tendency of an orthography which does not protect pronunciation, it is
possible that the earlier sound of _a_ in these words may not be able
to hold out forever.

So much for the first vowel of the alphabet. We are as badly off,
though in a different way, when we come to the second. It emphasizes
the degeneracy which has overtaken our whole orthographic and orthoepic
system that the name we now give to the first vowel was originally and
still is scientifically the long sound of the second. The respective
short and long values of this are heard in the words _met_ and _mate_.
In them are indicated the two sounds which the second vowel once
had with us, and which it still retains in other cultivated tongues.
The short sound continues to exist in all its primitive vigor, but
the long sound is now very generally denoted by _a_. _E_ itself no
longer has it, save in the exclamation _eh_, and in certain cases
where it is followed by _i_ or _y_, such as _vein_ and _rein_, and
_they_ or _obey_. Perhaps, indeed, it would be better to say that,
strictly speaking, this letter by itself never indicates the sound
at all; for the digraphs _ei_ and _ey_, as we shall see later, have
various distinct values, and are therefore entitled to be considered
independently.

A condition of things not essentially dissimilar can be reported of the
next vowel. Its original corresponding short and long sounds would be
exactly represented by those heard in the words _fill_ and _feel_. But
the same transition or progression which has waited upon the second
vowel has also attended the third. Its proper long sound has now become
the name by which we regularly designate the second vowel. The fortunes
of _i_ have accordingly been about the same as those of its predecessor
_e_. Here again the genuine short sound has been preserved in its
integrity and on a large scale. But the letter is now only occasionally
used to denote the long sound it had originally. This employment
of it occurs too mainly in comparatively recent words of foreign
origin. These have brought with them to a greater or less extent the
pronunciation they had in the tongue from which they came. Some of the
most common of these words are _caprice_ and _police_; _fatigue_ and
_intrigue_; _profile_; _machine_, _magazine_, _marine_, and _routine_;
and _antique_, _critique_, _oblique_, and _pique_. Once too it belonged
to _oblige_, and even to this day the pronunciation _obleege_ is
occasionally heard.

What we call the third vowel is not a vowel, but a diphthong. We can
see its sound and real character indicated in the Roman pronunciation
of _Cæsar_, the German _kaiser_, or in the _ae_ of the Spanish
_maestro_. Against this general movement it can be said that the
long and short sounds of the fourth vowel are much nearer their
originals. This is by no means true, however, of the fifth. The genuine
corresponding long and short sounds of it can be seen represented in
the words _fool_ and _full_. But we now almost universally apply the
term “short _u_” to the neutral sound heard in _but_ and _burn_. This
sound occurs on the most extensive scale. It has, in fact, come to be
one of the most common in our pronunciation, as to it all the vowels
of the unaccented syllables are disposed to tend. Even the sound of
_u_ in accented syllables begins to show occasional traces of this
degeneration. Who has not heard that provincial pronunciation of the
verb _put_ which gives it the exact value of the initial syllable of
_putty_? With nothing in our orthography to give fixity to orthoepy,
there is little limit to the possibilities lying before this so-called
“short _u_” in the way of displacing other sounds.

Let us now summarize the facts of the situation. The primal sound
of the first vowel is on the road to complete disappearance. The
long sound of the second vowel has usurped the name and in part the
proper functions of the first. The long sound of the third vowel has
performed a similar office for the second. The third vowel, so-called,
is a diphthong. On the other hand, the short sounds of these three
vowels--seen in _sat_, _set_, _sit_--continue to exist in their
original integrity. All of them are employed on an extensive scale.
Furthermore, the regular long and short sounds of _u_ have no longer
the prominence they once had in connection with this vowel. To the
popular apprehension the idea of it is supplied, as has just been said,
by the neutral vowel-sound we call “short _u_.” This has largely taken
the place of other vowel-sounds, and threatens to do so still more in
the future.

The confusion in the use of the vowel-signs is itself reinforced by the
condition of the alphabet. For the former, indeed, the latter is in no
small measure responsible. Behind all the other agencies which have
brought about the present wretched condition of our orthography stands
out its one most glaring defect. The Roman alphabet we have adopted as
our own is unequal to the demand made upon it. The three diphthongs
being included in the consideration, we have at a low calculation
fifteen vowel-sounds and but five characters to represent them.
According to a more common calculation, we have eighteen vowel-sounds
to be represented by this limited number. With the consonants we are
a good deal better off. The supernumeraries being excluded, there are
eighteen single characters for the twenty-four sounds to be denoted.

To make up for this deficiency of letters, two courses lay open to
the users of English; rather, two courses were forced upon them. One
was to have the same sign represent two or more sounds. This was at
best a poor method of relief. Even had it been done correctly and
systematically, so far as that result could be accomplished, it could
not have failed to be unsatisfactory. It would have been an attempt to
impose upon these few signs a burden they were unable to carry. But
not even was this imperfect result achieved. Apparently it was not
even aimed at. The sounds of the vowels have been so confused with one
another that no fixed value can be attached to any vowel-sign. They
are often used for each other in the most lawless fashion. So much
is this the case that it is frequently impossible to tell from the
spelling of a word what is the pronunciation of its vowel, or from the
pronunciation of its vowel what is the spelling of the word.

There was another way followed to meet the difficulty. This second
method was to make the best of the situation by that combination
of vowels, or that combination of vowel and consonant, or of two
consonants, to which we have given the name of digraphs. The first
of these do not really constitute diphthongs, though such they have
sometimes been termed. This method was far more sensible than the
preceding. The task of making combinations of letters which should
represent only particular sounds would have been, to be sure, a hard
one. The lawlessness pervading our vowel-system would doubtless
have prevented it from being carried out with thoroughness. But
carried out imperfectly, it would have been a distinct improvement
upon what we have now. But so far from any attempt having been made
to accomplish it on even an imperfect scale, it can hardly be said
to have been undertaken at all. There are two instances, indeed, in
which such combinations have an invariable or nearly invariable value.
One of these is _aw_, found in such words as _bawl_ and _lawn_. This
digraph never has any other sound than that of the so-called “broad
_a_”--heard, for illustration, in _fall_ and _salt_. The other is _ee_,
seen in _seen_ itself, as well as in a number of other words. With
two or three exceptions, this combination has that sound of the third
vowel we now ascribe to the second and call “long _e_.” But in both
these instances the limitation of the digraph to the representation
of a single sound was a result of accident rather than of design.
These combinations were in truth left to run the same haphazard course
which the letters composing them had usually followed. Accordingly,
to them extended the lawlessness pervading the vowel-system. As a
consequence, the pronunciation of the numerous digraphs became, as we
shall see later, as varying and uncertain as that of the single vowels
themselves.

We come now to the consideration of specific details upon which
have been based the general statements just made. Not by any
means all of them. There is no intention here of setting forth an
exhaustive enumeration of the facts that could be presented. Even
did I possess the phonetic knowledge, which I lack, sufficient to
do this properly and fully, the undertaking would have lain outside
of my plan. Furthermore, it would hinder the effect of the argument
for most persons rather than help it. The mass of detail would be
oppressive by its volume, and for that very reason less impressive.
Accordingly, I throw out of consideration any representation of the
variations of pronunciation to be found in unaccented syllables. In
them indistinctness of sound, owing to the inability of our present
orthography to denote precise values, has gone beyond that prevailing
in the other cultivated tongues of modern Europe. Not only are the
vowel-sounds in such syllables pronounced differently by different
individuals, they are pronounced differently by the same individual at
different times. In particular the precise pronunciation will be apt to
vary with the speaker’s rapidity or slowness of utterance. In one case
the exact sound will come out with perfect distinctness, in another it
will be hard to tell by what vowel it is represented. It is enough to
say here of the unaccented syllables that there is a strong tendency,
especially in hasty utterance, to give to them generally the sound of
that neutral vowel we commonly call “short _u_.”

It is accordingly in these unaccented syllables that so many were wont
to trip in the spelling contests once so popular. It was not unusual
to have the very best equipped contestant fail. He attempted to use
his reason; to succeed, it was essential to discard that and trust
instead to his memory. Take, for illustration, so common a verb as
_separate_. Who, ignorant of the word, could tell from the ordinary
pronunciation of it--even when that is reasonably distinct--what is the
precise sound heard in the case of the second syllable? Should it be
represented by an _a_ or an _e_? The actual fact has to be learned, not
through the agency of the ear, but through that of the eye. This is but
a single instance out of hundreds that could be cited where a similar
uncertainty must always prevail because the pronunciation cannot act as
a clear guide to the present spelling.

In the following pages, therefore, attention shall be directed mainly
to setting forth some of the most salient facts which reveal, in a
way easily comprehensible, the confusion existing in our present
orthography. For this purpose the discussion is intentionally confined
almost entirely to those syllables upon which the principal accent
falls. In a few instances some syllables will be included upon which
rests the secondary accent. In both cases, however, the examples will
be selected of words in which the distinction of sound is plainly
apparent to all, and easily recognizable. This limits the discussion
to but a section of the whole field. But though far from covering
the ground, the absolute truth of the general statements about the
condition of our orthography will appear distinctly manifest to him
who has the patience to wade through the following dreary assemblage
of facts, or perhaps it would be more proper to say, the following
assemblage of dreary facts. Beginning with the vowel-system, the
various letters or combinations of letters will be set forth which are
used to indicate the same sound. In a number of instances these signs
occur on a very small scale. Accordingly, three examples of every one
will be invariably given when the sound heard is represented frequently
by the spelling, or at least more or less frequently. When but one or
two words are specified, this smaller number will denote that these
are all the ordinary ones of that class--exclusive of derivatives and
compounds--which are known to exist. At any rate, they are all that are
known to exist to the writer. It is not unlikely that examples have
been overlooked which will suggest themselves to the reader. We begin
with the vowel-system.


                                  III

                              THE VOWELS

The vowel _a_ demands first attention. The sound of it, heard in
_father_ and _far_, has been spoken of as disappearing. The simple
vowel usually represents it, so far as it continues to exist. Other
signs, however, are occasionally employed. It is heard in the _ua_ of
_guard_ and _guardian_, in the _ea_ of _heart_, and also of _hearken_
when so spelled; and finally in England in the _e_ of _clerk_,
_sergeant_, and a few other words. Once much more common, it has even
there steadily given way before the advance of the so-called “short
_u_” sound, occurring in such words as _her_. In the pronunciation
of some it is further represented, for illustration, by the _au_ of
_haunt_ and _haunch_. On the other hand, as contrasted with this
declining use, the regular short sound of _a_, heard in _man_ and
_mat_, is preserved in its fullest vigor. In the large majority of
instances it is indicated by the simple letter itself. The exceptions
to this representation of it are merely sporadic. Such are the _ua_ of
_guarantee_ and the _ai_ of _plaid_.

But dismissing the consideration of these two sounds of this vowel,
take those heard respectively in the words _fare_, _fall_, and _fate_.
Let us begin with the first of these. Its sound is denoted in many
words by the simple vowel, as can be seen in _pare_, _care_, _declare_.
But it is also indicated by _ai_ in _pair_, _hair_, _stair_; by _ay_
in _prayer_; by _e_ in _there_ and _where_; and by _ei_ in _their_ and
_heir_. The second of these is the _au_ sound heard in _all_, _warm_,
_want_. It is not unfrequently denominated “broad _a_.” But besides
this vowel the sound is further represented by _o_ in such words as
_oft_, _loss_, _song_; by _au_ in _daub_, _haul_, _taught_, and the
like; similarly by _aw_ in _saw_, _drawn_, _bawl_, and numerous others;
by _oa_ in _broad_; and by _ou_ in _sought_, _thought_, _bought_.

It has already been pointed out that the so-called long sound of _a_
does not strictly belong to it; that it is really an _e_ sound. But as
it has imposed its name upon the vowel, it is properly to be considered
with it in any treatise which appeals to the general public. Its most
usual representative is the letter itself, seen in _pale_, _pane_,
_page_, and in scores of words in which the presence of an unpronounced
final _e_ has come to indicate generally, though not invariably, that
the preceding vowel is long. But then again it is represented by _ai_
in _pail_, _pain_, _exclaim_; by _ay_ in _lay_, _pay_, _day_; by _ea_
in _great_, _steak_, _break_; by _ei_ in _veil_, _vein_, _heinous_; and
by _ey_ in _they_, _obey_ and _survey_. In the interjection _eh_ the
vowel has for once its original sound. Again there are two instances in
which a digraph with this sound occurs in but a single case. These two
are the _ao_ of _gaol_ and the au of _gauge_.

In the case of the first of these words there were two ways of spelling
it which existed from the fourteenth century. These are _gaol_ and
_jail_. The first form comes from the dialect of Normandy, the second
from that of Paris. Both have been in use from the beginning. About
both there has been to some extent controversy, at least in the past.
The New Historical Dictionary, which contains a full history of the
origin and use of these two forms, gives us a quotation bearing upon
this point from Roger L’Estrange’s translation of the _Visions of
Quevedo_. In this version, which appeared in 1668, English allusions
were not unfrequently introduced. In one instance men are represented
as being in a state of rage because they cannot come to a resolution
as to whether they ought to say _Goal_ (_sic_) or _Jayl_. _Gaol_ is
still the official form of the word in England. That fact has mainly
contributed to its maintenance in literature, so far as it continues
to be used. In the United States _jail_ is both the official and
the literary form. But the spelling _gaol_ has to some a peculiar
attraction of its own. Not a single letter in it save the final _l_ is
of use in indicating with certainty its right pronunciation. In truth,
the orthography almost enforces a wrong one. There are those to whom
this fact is the highest recommendation it can have.

The second word has varied between the spellings _gauge_ and _gage_
almost from its very entrance into the language in the fifteenth
century. One gets the impression that there was a time when the latter
was the preferred form. But with our present knowledge no statement of
this sort can be made positively. “You shall not gage me by what we
do to-night,” says Gratiano to Bassanio in _The Merchant of Venice_.
Modern editions, in defiance of the original, print _gauge_; for the
folio and both the early quartos agree in having _gage_. Shakespeare’s
use seems to be nothing but another illustration of his perverse
preference for the so-called American spelling, or the American
preference for Shakespeare’s spelling, just as one chooses to put it.
Such an anomalous form as _gauge_ proved at times too much for the
tolerance of the orthographically much-enduring Englishman. Even him it
has struck as peculiarly objectionable. So in the eighteenth century
he set out to remove this particular blot upon the speech. But as he
was in nowise tainted with the virus of reform, he exhibited the usual
incurable aversion to having the spelling bear any relation to the
pronunciation. Accordingly, he refused to take the natural as well as
time-honored course of dropping the unnecessary and misleading _u_.
Instead, he reversed the order of the letters of the digraph. The _au_
became _ua_.

There have been in modern times men who advocated this method of
spelling the word with all that fervor of faith which is so frequent
an accompaniment of limited knowledge. On this point, for instance,
the late Grant Allen felt called upon to bear his testimony. He was
wont to make his novels a vehicle for conveying his linguistic views as
well as those pertaining to religion, society, and politics. “Cynicus
replied, with an ugly smile,” he wrote, “that nobody could ever guage
anybody else’s nature.”[16] Then, with what might fairly be called an
ugly smile of his own, Allen added in a parenthesis, “not _gauge_, a
vile dictionary blunder.” There was no apparent reason for this lexical
outburst; there was certainly no proof vouchsafed of the justice of
the assertion. As the originals of the word were the Old French noun
_gauge_ and the verb _gauger_, it is hard to see how dictionaries
could be held responsible for blunders, if blunders they were, which
foreigners had perpetrated centuries before. There is, in truth, as
little etymological justification for _guage_ as there is phonetic for
_gauge_. _Gage_, if it were not the most common way of spelling the
word during the Elizabethan period, was certainly a common one. It is
now, on the whole, the preferred form in the United States. Except in
the nautical term _weather-gage_, the u is very generally retained
in England. This is doubtless due to the desire of gratifying the
ardent enthusiasm pervading the toiling millions of Great Britain for
spellings which remind them of the Old French originals, from which
were derived the words they employ.

In the case of the second vowel, the short _e_ sound is properly
shown in a large number of words of which _let_, _felt_, _bed_ may
be taken as representatives. These are all phonetically spelled. No
educated man who saw them for the first time would have any hesitation
about their pronunciation. Such a condition of things tends to chasten
the feelings of that class of persons, not inconsiderable in number,
who think it distinctively to the credit of the spelling that it
should get as far away from the pronunciation as possible. They may
be consoled, however, by the fact that this same sound is represented
by _a_ in _any_ and _many_; by _ea_ in a large number of words, such
as _health_, _endeavor_, _weather_; by ai in _said_ and _again_; by
_ay_ in says; by _ei_ in _heifer_ and _nonpareil_, and by _eo_ in
_jeopard_ and _leopard_. There are those who give this short sound to
_leisure_, rhyming it with _pleasure_, as did Milton,[17] instead of
the more common long sound heard with us. Indeed, it is noticeable
that preference is given to the former in the New Historical English
Dictionary, though that pronunciation is absolutely ignored in some
of the best American ones. The compilers of these last may have been
touched by Walker’s pathetic plea for the long sound. “_Leisure_,” he
wrote, “is sometimes pronounced as rhyming with _pleasure_; but in my
opinion very improperly; for if it be allowed that custom is equally
divided, we ought, in this case, to pronounce the diphthong long, as
more expressive of the idea annexed to it.”

_Any_ and _many_ are now the only two words where _a_ has the sound of
short _e_. At one time it was heard in others, and was not unfrequently
so represented in literature. It lingers, too, in some instances, and
even, indeed, flourishes in spite of all the efforts of education
to extirpate it. The present authorized pronunciation of _catch_,
instead of _ketch_, is one of the comparatively few triumphs gained
by the written word over the spoken. In days when devotion did not
exist to orthography irrespective of the purpose it was designed to
fulfil, the _a_ assumed the spelling of _e_ along with its sound.
The earlier _cag_, for illustration, has been abandoned for the pure
phonetic spelling _keg_. Apparently no serious harm has befallen the
language in consequence. Even more distant from the remote Latin
original, _canalis_, denoting the home of _canis_, ‘the dog,’ is the
form _kennel_. This turns its back upon its primitive, and contents
itself with simply representing the pronunciation. So much are we
the creatures of habit and association in the matter of spelling that
the most ardent believer in the doctrine of basing orthography upon
derivation could in neither of the cases just mentioned be persuaded to
revert to the form nearest to that in the original tongue.

The sound to which we give the name of “long _e_” belongs strictly, as
has been pointed out, to _i_. A few of the words have also been given
in which it still continues to be so indicated.[18] There are certain
conditions under which it is represented by the simple letter itself.
One is when it alone constitutes an accented syllable, as in _equal_,
_era_, _ecliptic_. Another when it ends a monosyllable or an accented
syllable, as in _he_, _be_, _regal_, _cohesion_. It appears finally
with a good deal of frequency in words in which the sound of the simple
vowel is lengthened by the artificial device of an appended mute _e_,
as in _theme_, _precede_, _complete_. This last word, it may be said in
passing, was once often spelled _compleat_. But as the letter itself
represents much more usually the short sound of the vowel, the long
sound has come to be indicated often by various digraphs. Of these,
two are particularly prominent. One of them is _ee_, seen in a large
number of words, such as _meet_, _thee_, _proceed_. The second digraph
is _ea_, found in _bean_, _meat_, _eagle_, and a host of others. But
the sound is not limited to these two combinations. It is represented
by _ei_ in _receive_, _conceit_, _seize_; by _ie_ in _believe_,
_chief_, _fiend_; by _ey_ in _key_; by _eo_ in _people_; by _ay_ in
_quay_; by _æ_ in _ægis_, _pæan_, _minutiæ_; and several other words
not fully naturalized.

Once, indeed, this last method of indicating the sound was far more
common. In many instances it has been supplanted by the simple _e_.
It was not till a comparatively late period that such spellings as
_era_ and _ether_ drove out in great measure the once prevalent _æra_
and _æther_. As _æ_ has with us strictly but one sound, the change
cannot, from all points of view, be deemed an improvement. In the
case of an unknown word first brought to the attention, no one could
now be positive, under certain conditions, whether the vowel should
be treated as long or short. Take, for illustration, _encyclopedia_,
once often spelled _encyclopædia_. He who sees the word for the first
time is as likely to pronounce the antepenultimate syllable _pĕd_ as
_pēd_. He certainly could not tell from the orthography employed how
this particular syllable should be sounded. Still, for much more than
a century the tendency of the users of the language has been steadily
directed toward the discarding of the _æ_ in all cases. As long ago as
1755 Dr. Johnson, in his dictionary, recommended its disuse. “_Æ_,” he
wrote, “is sometimes found in Latin words not completely naturalized
or assimilated, but is by no means an English diphthong, and is more
properly expressed by single _e_, as _Cesar_, _Eneas_.” Dr. Johnson was
hostile to spelling reform; but he could venture to sanction a spelling
of these two Latin proper names, at which even the average spelling
reformer would shudder.

Fortunately for those of us who believe that spelling exists for the
sake of indicating pronunciation, the sound of short _i_, one of the
most common vowel sounds in the language, is almost always represented
by the letter itself. The exceptions are few, comparatively speaking.
The only sign to take its place in any body of words sufficiently
numerous to be entitled a class is _y_, as seen in _syntax_, _abyss_,
_system_, and other words, generally of Greek origin. The instances
where different signs are employed are purely sporadic. Most of them,
however, are for various reasons remarkable. The sound is represented
by _e_ in the name of the language we speak and of the country where
it came into being. It is further represented by the _e_ of _pretty_,
by the _o_ of _women_, by the _u_ of _busy_ and _business_, by the
_ie_ of _sieve_, and by the _ui_ of _guild_ and _guilt_ and _build_.
Once in the speech of most men, and now in that of many, it is given
to the _ee_ of _been_, and regularly to that combination as found in
_breeches_.

_Gild_ is a variant spelling of _guild_, and represents the earlier
form. The _ui_ of the two additional examples given ought to be a
saddening spectacle to the devout believer in derivation as the
basis of orthography. The original form of _guilt_ was _gylt_. So it
remained with various spellings--of which _gilt_ was naturally the
most common--until the sixteenth century. But there was also an allied
form, _gult_. These two undoubtedly represented distinct and easily
recognizable pronunciations of the word. They were at last combined so
as to create a spelling, of the pronunciation of which no one could
now be certain until he was told. This did not take place on any scale
worth mentioning until the latter part of the sixteenth century, though
the combination had occasionally been seen much earlier. Essentially
the same thing can be said of _build_. It originally appeared in
various ways, of which _byld_, _bild_, and _buld_ were the prominent
types. At the end of the fifteenth century the practice began of
recognizing both forms by writing _build_ or _buyld_. In a measure
this doubtless represented a then existing shade of pronunciation. The
spelling, once established, has continued since. No one ever thinks of
pronouncing the _u_; perhaps no one has ever thought of it since the
combination was formed. Yet there is no question that intense sorrow
would be occasioned to a certain class of persons were they to be
deprived of the pleasure of inserting in the word this useless and now
orthoepically misleading letter.

The so-called “long _i_” ought strictly to be treated under the
diphthongs; but as it is popularly associated in the minds of men
with the simple vowel, its diphthongal sound will be considered at
this point. Its most usual representative is the letter itself. This
presents little difficulty in the pronunciation if the words end with
a mute _e_, as in _mine_, _desire_, _bite_. The distinction between
_thin_ and _thine_, for instance, is then easily made. But when it
comes to such words as _mind_, _child_, and _pint_ on the one hand,
and _lift_, _gild_, and _tint_ on the other, there is nothing in the
spelling to indicate with certainty how the _i_ of these words should
be sounded. As no general rule can be laid down, the pronunciation of
each has in consequence to be learned by itself. This uncertainty
was perhaps one of the causes which led to the transition of the
diphthongal sound of _i_ in _wind_ to the short sound _wĭnd_, which
so aroused the wrath of Dean Swift. But besides _i_ the sound is also
indicated by the _y_ of _type_, _ally_, _thyme_, and a number of words
derived from the Greek; by _ie_, especially in monosyllables, such as
_die_, _lie_, and _tie_; by _ye_ in the noun _lye_; by _ei_ in _height_
and _sleight_, and according to one method of pronunciation in _either_
and _neither_. It is further represented by the _ai_ of _aisle_, by the
_ey_ of _eye_, and by the _uy_ of _buy_.

The third vowel now demands attention. Orthoepists contend that there
is no genuine short _o_ in English utterance. Without entering into a
discussion of this point, it is sufficient to say that the two sounds
of the letter, which are ordinarily designated as short and long, are
represented respectively in the words _not_ and _note_. The former
sound remains fairly faithful to this vowel. It is hardly indicated
by any other sign. The _a_ of _what_, _squad_, _quarry_ is about the
only one to take its place. Very different is it with the long sound
heard in _note_. This is far from confining itself to any single
letter. In no small number of words it is represented by _oa_, as
in _boat_, _groan_, _coal_; by _oe_, as in _foe_, _toe_, _hoe_; by
_ou_, as in _pour_, _mould_, _shoulder_; or again by _ow_, as seen in
_crow_, _snow_, _show_. Less common, but still to be met with, is this
sound heard in the combination _ew_, as seen in _sew_; as well as in
_shew_ and _strew_, as these words were once regularly and are now
occasionally spelled; in _oo_, as in _door_ and _floor_; in _eau_, in
_beau_, _bureau_, and _flambeau_; and in the _eo_ of _yeoman_.

This last word was once spelled at times _yoman_ and at times _yeman_.
These forms doubtless represented the two ways of pronouncing it that
existed. The _Toxophilus_ of Roger Ascham, for illustration, was
dedicated to the use “of the gentlemen and yomen of Englande.” But the
sound of the vowel of the first syllable wavered for a long period
between the long _o_ and the short _e_. Ben Jonson, in the earlier
part of the seventeenth century, observed of the word that “it were
truer written _yĕman_.” In the latter half of the eighteenth century
Doctor Johnson tells us that the _eo_ of this word “is sounded like
_e_ short.” This was the view taken by perhaps the larger number
of orthoepists, who immediately followed him. In spite of them the
_o_ pronunciation has triumphed. It has shown, however, a tender
consideration for its defeated rival by allowing it to lead a useless
existence in the syllable in which, in the utterance of many, it once
represented the actual sound.

The corresponding short and long sounds of _u_ are seen in the words
_full_ and _rule_. But _o_, either singly, or in combination with other
letters, is a favorite way of indicating both. The short sound of this
vowel, which is far from common, is represented by the _o_ of _bosom_,
_woman_, _wolf_; by the _oo_ of _good_, _foot_, _stood_; by the _ou_ of
_could_, _would_, _should_. On the other hand, the corresponding long
sound is also represented by the _o_ of _move_, _prove_, _lose_; by the
_oe_ of _shoe_ and _canoe_; by the _oo_ of _too_, _root_, _fool_; by
_ou_ in such words as _uncouth_, _routine_, _youth_, and a number of
others derived generally from the French. There has been and still is
something of a tendency on the part of the users of language to change
the long sound of _oo_ into its short one. Oliver Wendell Holmes,
in his poem of _Urania_, represents Learning as giving a lesson on
propriety of pronunciation. Among other points considered, occurred the
following observations:

  She pardoned one, our classic city’s boast,
  That said at Cambridge mŏst instead of mōst,
  But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot
  To hear a Teacher call a rōot a rŏot.

This is perhaps as good an example as can be furnished of the waste
of time and labor imposed by our present orthography in mastering
distinctions of sounds in words when there is nothing in the sign
employed to indicate which one is proper. To men not given up to
slavish admiration of our present spelling, it would seem that
Learning, instead of stamping her foot, would have been much more
sensibly engaged in using her head to devise some method by which
one and the same combination of letters should not be called upon to
represent two distinct sounds in words so closely allied in form as
_foot_ and _root_; or distinct sounds in words with the same ending as
_toe_ and the _shoe_ that covers it.

Another way of indicating the long sound of this vowel is either by the
simple letter itself or by it in combination with other letters. For
instance, it is represented by _ue_ in such words as _true_, _avenue_,
_pursue_; by _ui_ in _fruit_, _bruise_, _pursuit_; by _eu_ in _neuter_,
_deuce_, _pentateuch_; by _ew_ in _brew_, _sewer_, _lewd_; and by _ieu_
in _adieu_, _lieu_, _purlieu_. But there is a peculiarity in the words
containing this vowel, the consideration of which involves too much
space to have little more than a reference here. We all recognize the
difference of the sound of _u_ as heard respectively in _fortune_ and
_fortuitous_, in _annual_ and _annuity_, in _volume_ and _voluminous_,
in _penury_ and _penurious_. In the first one of each of these pairs of
words a _y_-element is introduced into the pronunciation; in the second
the _u_ has its absolutely pure long sound. Nor is this introduction
of the _y_-element limited to the letter when used alone. We can find
it exemplified in the _ue_ of _statue_, _value_, _tissue_; in the _eu_
of _eulogy_, _euphony_, _Europe_; in the _ew_ of _ewe_, _hew_, _few_.
This iotization, as it is called, is especially prevalent in words with
the termination _ture_, as _nature_, _furniture_, _sculpture_, and
_agriculture_. Now and then some one is heard giving, or attempting to
give, to the _u_ of this ending the pure sound; but such persons are
usually regarded as possessed of “cultoor” and not culture.

The only word of this special class in which such a method of
pronunciation can be said to have attained any recognition whatever
is _literature_. The word itself is an old one in our speech. Once,
however, it meant merely knowledge of literature. It did not mean
that body of writings which constitute the production of a country or
of a period. This sense of it, now the most common, is comparatively
modern. The earliest instance I have chanced to meet of it--though
it was doubtless used a good deal earlier--is in the correspondence
of Southey and William Taylor of Norwich. There it occurs in a
letter belonging to the year 1803, in which Southey tells his
friend that he was expecting to undertake the editorship of a work
dealing biographically and critically with “the history of English
literature.”[19] Still, the pronunciation just mentioned of this word,
differing as it does from the others of the same class, must even then
have been occasionally heard. It was certainly made the subject of
comment by Byron. He somewhere speaks--I have mislaid the reference--of
a publisher who was in the habit of talking about _literatoor_. This
peculiar pronunciation still comes at times from the lips of educated
men.

But the regular long and short sounds of _u_ yield in frequency
of occurrence to that sound of it heard in _but_ and _burn_. In
common speech this has usurped with us the title of “short _u_.”
By orthoepists it itself is divided into a long and a short sound,
according as it is or is not followed by an _r_. Into it, as has been
pointed out, the pronunciation of all unaccented syllables tends to
run. Hence, in the case of these, there has come to exist the greatest
possible variety of signs by which it is indicated. But even in the
accented syllables there is a sufficient number of different ones to
arrest the attention. Naturally the most usual representative of it is
the vowel from which it has taken its name. But it is far from being
limited to this sign. Its short sound is further represented by the
_o_ of such words as _love_, _dove_, and _son_; similarly by the _ou_
of _double_, _touch_, and _young_; and by the _oo_ of _blood_ and
_flood_. In vulgar speech _soot_ would have to be added to the last
two. Furthermore, it is represented by the sporadic example of the _oe_
of _does_. The long sound runs through a still wider range of examples.
Words containing it but denoted by various signs could be given by the
score. It is represented by all the vowels except the first. The _e_
of _her_, _were_, _fern_, stands for it. So does the _i_ of _fir_,
_bird_, _virgin_. So does the _o_ of _work_, _worship_, _worth_. It
is likewise largely represented by _ea_ in such words as _heard_,
_learn_, _search_; by _ou_ in _scourge_, _journal_, _flourish_, and no
small number of others containing this particular sign. In the single
instance of _tierce_ the sound is denoted also by _ie_. Were its use
in unaccented syllables indicated, this list of signs would be largely
extended. As it is, it will be seen that nine is the number employed
in accented syllables to represent it.

So much for the simple vowels. We come now to the three diphthongs. The
first of these, which is made up of the sound of the _a_ of _father_
and that of the _e_ of _they_, has already been considered in treating
what is called “long _i_.” Eight signs were given by which it was
denoted.[20] This wealth of representation does not belong to the two
other diphthongs. There are but two signs by which the sound of the
second is indicated. These are the _ou_ of _south_, _found_, _about_,
and the _ow_ of _now_, _town_, _vowel_. The third diphthong again has
but two signs, the _oi_ of _boil_, _point_, _spoil_, and the _oy_
of _boy_, _joy_, _destroy_. Many of the words in which _oi_ appears
had once the pronunciation of the first mentioned diphthong. To the
truth of this both the rymes of the poets and the assertions of the
early orthoepists bear ample testimony. The statement is still further
confirmed by the fact that the sound still lingers, or, rather, is
prevalent, in the speech of the uneducated, the great conservators of
past usage. The words given above as illustrative of this sign of the
diphthong would have been pronounced by our fathers _bīle_, _pīnt_,
_spīle_. So they are still pronounced by the illiterate. In one word,
indeed, this sound has not passed entirely from the colloquial speech
of the cultivated either in England or America. _Roil_ is not merely
heard as _rīle_, but is not unfrequently found so printed.


                                  IV

                             THE DIGRAPHS

Up to this point we have been engaged in making manifest the numerous
different ways in which the same vowel-sound is represented in our
present orthography. Necessarily a reversal of the process would
present an equally impressive showing, for examples just as impressive
would make manifest how the same sign adds to the further confusion
of English spelling by denoting a number of different vowel-sounds.
But there is a limit to the endurance of the reader, to say nothing of
that of the writer. Furthermore, there is little need of this addition
in the case of the vowels. The facts about to be furnished will be
more than sufficient to satisfy any demand for illustrations of the
extent to which the same sign has been made to indicate a wide variety
of different sounds, though in the sporadic instances the examples
already given must be repeated. For we come now to the consideration
of those combinations of letters, numerous in English spelling, to
which has been given the name of digraphs. They are sometimes made up
of a union of vowels, sometimes of a union of a vowel and a consonant,
sometimes of a union of two consonants.

I have already adverted to the fact that had there been any system
established in the employment of these combinations of letters, and
had each of them been made to represent unvaryingly one particular
sound, some of the worst evils of English orthography would have been
largely mitigated, and in certain cases entirely relieved. But this
was not to be. The opportunity of bringing about regularity of usage
in the employment of these signs was either not seen, or if seen was
not improved. The same variableness, the same irregularity, the same
lawlessness which existed in the representation of the sounds of the
vowels and diphthongs came to exist in the case of the digraphs also.
They consequently did little more than add to the confusion prevailing
in English orthography, and became as valueless for indicating
pronunciation as are the single letters of which they are composed.

To this sweeping statement there are two partial exceptions. The first
is _aw_. This is one of several representatives of the so-called
broad sound of _a_ heard in _ball_ and _fall_. Whenever that digraph
appears, its pronunciation is invariably the same. No such absolute
assertion can be made of the digraph which represents the sound of
“long _e_.” This is the combination _ee_. There are but two exceptions
in common use to the pronunciation of it just given. The first is the
word _breeches_. Its singular has the regular sound. The pronunciation
as short _i_ in the plural--used, too, there in a special sense--may
perhaps be due to an extension to this form of that tendency, so
prevalent in English speech, on the part of the derivative, to shorten
the vowel of the primitive. The other is the participle _been_ of the
substantive verb. In usage the pronunciation of this word has long
wavered and still wavers between the sounds heard respectively in _sin_
and _seen_. Of this variation there will be occasion to speak later in
detail.

These exceptions, however, affect but a limited number of words. They
are hardly worth considering when their regularity is put in contrast
with the irregularities of the other combinations. Let us begin with
the digraph _ai_. Ordinarily it has the sound we are accustomed to
call “long a,” as can be seen in _fail_, _rain_, and _paid_. In _pair_,
_fair_, _hair_ it has another sound. In _said_, _again_, _against_
it has the sound of short _e_. In _aisle_ it has the diphthongal
sound called by us “long _i_.” This word furnishes an interesting
illustration of the way in which much of our highly prized orthography
came to have a being. Its present spelling is comparatively recent.
Doctor Johnson recognized in it the lack of conformity to any possible
derivation. He adopted it on the authority of Addison, though with
manifest misgiving. He thought it ought to be written _aile_, but in
deference to this author he inserted it in his dictionary as _aisle_.

“Thus,” he said, “the word is written by Addison, but perhaps
improperly.”[21] Johnson’s action was followed without thought and
without hesitation by his successors. There is no question, indeed,
as to the impropriety of the present spelling from the point of view
of both derivation and pronunciation. Equally there is no doubt as to
the impropriety of its meaning from the former point of view. It came
remotely from the Latin _ala_, ‘a wing.’ Therefore, it means really
the wing part of the church on each side of the nave. In this sense it
is still employed. But since the first half of the eighteenth century
it has been made to denote also the passage between rows of seats.
Strictly speaking, this is a particularly gross corruption, though,
like so many in our speech, it has now been sanctioned by good usage.
The proper word to indicate such a sense was _alley_, corresponding to
the French _allée_, ‘a passage.’ This was once common and is still used
in the North of England. _Aisle_ itself was formerly spelled _ile_ or
_yle_. Confusing it with _isle_, originally spelled _ile_, men inserted
an _s_ about the end of the seventeenth century. Later an _a_ was
prefixed under the influence of the French _aile_. It was thus that
this linguistic monster, defying any correct orthography or orthoepy,
was created. In any sense of it the _s_ is an unjustifiable intrusion,
representing as the word does in one signification the Latin _ala_, ‘a
wing,’ and in the other the French _allée_, ‘a passage.’

There is another word containing this digraph which illustrates vividly
the uncertainty of sound caused by the present spelling. This is
_plait_, both as verb and substantive. About its pronunciation usage
has long been conflicting. “_Plait_, a fold of cloth, is regular,
and ought to be pronounced like _plate_, a dish,” said Walker, at the
beginning of the eighteenth century. “Pronouncing it so as to rhyme
with _meat_,” he added, “is a vulgarism, and ought to be avoided.” So
say several later English dictionaries. So say the leading American
ones. Webster, indeed, concedes that the pronunciation denounced by
Walker is colloquially possible. It therefore does not necessarily
relegate the user of it to the ranks of the vulgar. Now comes the New
Historical English Dictionary, and gives the word not merely three
distinct pronunciations, but holds up as only really proper that which
has failed to gain the favor of most lexicographers. It is the one
found “in living English use,” it says, when the word has the sense
of ‘fold.’ Further we are assured that with this signification it is
ordinarily written _pleat_. This would tend to justify still more the
ryme with _meat_, which so shocked Walker. Then in its second sense of
a ‘braid of hair or straw’ we are told that it has the sound of _a_ in
_mat_. This leaves the pronunciation of _plait_ to ryme with _plate_
hardly any support to stand on. It has merely the distinction of being
mentioned first; but it is denied a real existence as a spoken word.
Nothing could better illustrate the unlimited possibilities opened by
our present orthography for discussions of propriety of pronunciation
about which certainty can never be assured. All statements about
general usage, no matter from what source coming, must necessarily
be received with a good many grains of allowance, if not with a fair
proportion of grains of distrust--at least, whenever our orthoepic
doctors disagree. Do the best the most conscientious investigator
can, he can never make himself familiar with the practice of but a
limited number of educated men who have a right to be consulted. His
conclusions, therefore, must always rest upon a more or less imperfect
collection of facts.

The digraph _ay_ is naturally subject to the same influences as _ai_.
It is, however, much less used save at the end of words. Grief has,
indeed, been felt and expressed, even by devout worshippers of our
present orthography, at the arbitrary change of signs made in the
inflection of certain verbs, like _lay_, _pay_, _say_. These, without
any apparent reason for so doing, pass from the digraph _ay_ in the
present to _ai_ in the preterite. Naturally there is no objectionable
uniformity in the practice. That might tend to render slightly easier
the acquisition of our spelling. Accordingly, _lay_ and _pay_ and
_say_ have in the past tense _laid_, _paid_, and _said_, while verbs
with the same termination, such as _play_, _pray_, _delay_, have in
this same past tense the forms _played_ and _prayed_ and _delayed_.
_Stay_ uses impartially _staid_ and _stayed_. Much dissatisfaction has
been expressed at the “wanton departure from analogy,” as it has been
called, which has been manifested by the words of the first list given.
As the characteristic of our spelling everywhere is a wanton departure
from analogy, it hardly seems worth while to find fault with this
particular exhibition of it.

In _quay_ the digraph has the entirely distinct sound of “long _e_.”
Of this word it may be added that the spelling is modern while the
pronunciation is ancient. Originally it appeared as _key_ or _kay_--of
course, with the usual orthographic variations. In the earlier half
of the eighteenth century, under the influence of the French _quai_,
the present form of the word came in; toward the end of the century it
had become the prevailing form. This gave the lexicographer, Walker,
an opportunity to display his hostility to any sort of spelling
which should engage in the reprehensible task of aiming to indicate
pronunciation. Such a proceeding was in his eyes a radically vicious
course of action. In the entire ignorance of the original form of the
word he remarked that it “is now sometimes seen written _key_; for if
we cannot bring the pronunciation to the spelling, it is looked upon
as some improvement to bring the spelling to the pronunciation--a most
pernicious practice in language.”

_Key_, as the spelling suggests, had originally the sound of _ey_ in
_they_ and _obey_; later it passed into the sound of “long _e_.” This
it has transmitted to its supplanter. In the scarcity of rymes in our
tongue, it is always a little venturesome to infer from the evidence
of verse the past pronunciation of words which have with us the same
termination, but different sounds. This imparts a little uncertainty to
the treatment of _quay_ in two passages containing the word which are
given by the New Historical Dictionary.

  But now arrives the dismal day
  She must return to Ormond-quay,

says Swift in his poem of _Stella at Wood-Park_. Does the ryme here
represent an attempt to conform the pronunciation to the spelling?
More likely it represents the survival of a pronunciation once more
or less prevalent. The second extract from _In Memoriam_ is under the
circumstances more striking:

  If one should bring me the report
    That thou hadst touched the land to-day,
    And I went down unto the quay,
  And found thee lying in the port.

It certainly looks as if in this passage Tennyson had set out to make
the pronunciation conform to the spelling.

Our next digraph is _ea_. This has a choice variety of sounds to
represent. Most commonly it receives the pronunciation of “long _e_.”
Of the scores of examples containing it, _beast_, _hear_, and _deal_
may be taken as specimens. But while this is its most frequent sound,
it is far from being the only one. Its most important rival is that
of short _e_, which can be found in no small number of words like
_breath_, _breast_, _weather_. In these and all other like cases the
second vowel is absolutely superfluous as regards pronunciation. The
unnecessary letter is in some instances due to derivation; in others
it exists in defiance of it--as, for instance, in _feather_ and
_endeavor_. Its insertion was doubtless due to an attempt to represent
a sound which is no longer heard in these words. In a large number of
instances they were once spelled without the now unpronounced letter.

Common also is a third sound of this digraph--the one we call “short
_u_.” It is heard in _heard_ itself, in _earth_, in _early_, in
_learn_, in _search_, and in a number of other words in which _ea_
is followed by _r_. There is a fourth sound of it which may be
represented by _bear_, _swear_, _tear_. A fifth sound of it occurs in
the words _heart_, _hearth_, and _hearken_. Again, a sixth sound of
it is represented by such words as _great_, _break_, _steak_. In all
these cases it will be observed that certain of these words have in
the course of their history tended to pass from one pronunciation of
the digraph into another. Sometimes they have for a long time wavered
between the two. _Hearth_, which contains the fifth sound just assigned
to the combination, was often made to ryme with words containing the
third sound, represented by _earth_. According to the New Historical
Dictionary, this is true now of Scotland, and of the Northern English
dialect. It is true also of certain parts of the United States, or,
at any rate, of certain persons. It seems also to have been the
pronunciation of Milton.

  Far from all resort of mirth
  Save the cricket on the hearth

are lines found in _Il Penseroso_. So also _great_ once had often the
first sound here given to the digraph, as if it were spelled _greet_.
Both this sound as well as the one it now receives were so equally
authorized in the eighteenth century that Dr. Johnson triumphantly
cited the fact as a convincing proof of the impossibility of making a
satisfactory pronouncing dictionary, just as we are now told that we
cannot have a phonetic orthography because men pronounce the same word
in different ways.

The digraph _ee_ having already been considered, we pass on to _ei_.
Its most frequent sound is that heard in such words as _rein_, _veil_,
and _neighbor_. But it has also the sound of “long _e_” in _conceit_,
_seize_, _ceiling_, and a few others. In _heir_ and _heiress_ and
_their_ it has the sound of _a_ in _fare_. In _height_ and _sleight_
it has the sound of “long _i_.” In _heifer_ and _nonpareil_ it has
the sound of short _e_. The allied digraph _ey_ has no such range of
sounds. In accented syllables it represents only the first one given to
_ei_, as can be seen in _they_, _grey_, and _survey_. _Key_, with the
sound of “long _e_,” seems to be the solitary exception.

It is already plainly apparent that there is nothing in the character
of our present spelling to fit it to serve as a guide to pronunciation,
the very office for which spelling was created. But its worthlessness
in this respect, with the consequent uncertainty and anxiety attending
the use of it, forms in the case of two words containing the digraph
_ei_, one of the most amusing episodes in the history of English
orthoepy. In modern times their pronunciation has given rise to
controversy and heart-burnings as bitter as the matter itself is
unimportant. These words are _either_ and _neither_. Were they to
adopt the most common pronunciation of the digraph they would have
the sound heard in such words as _eight_, _vein_, and _feint_. This,
in truth, they once had. To indicate that fact they have occasionally
been written _ayther_ and _nayther_. But this pronunciation, outside
of Ireland at least, had largely disappeared by the latter part of
the eighteenth century. So far as many orthoepists were concerned, it
was ignored entirely. Those who mentioned it often accorded it scant
favor. The affections of lexicographers were long divided between the
sounds heard in _receive_ and _deceit_, and that heard in _height_ and
_sleight_. For the former there was a very marked preference. Most
of them did not even admit the existence of the “long _i_” sound;
those who did, gave it generally a grudging recognition. The various
pronunciations prevailing in the latter part of the eighteenth century
were specified by Nares in his _Elements of Orthoepy_. “_Either_ and
_neither_,” he wrote, “are spoken by some with the sound of long _i_.
I have heard even that of long _a_ given to them; but as the regular
way is also in use, I think it is preferable. These differences seem
to have arisen from ignorance of the regular sound of _ei_.” As
the regular sound of _ei_, if any one of them is entitled to that
designation, is heard in such words as _skein_ and _freight_, one gets
the impression that Nares himself was ignorant of what it was.

Walker, the orthoepic lawgiver of our fathers, distinctly preferred
the “long _e_” sound of _either_ and _neither_. Both the practice of
Garrick and analogy led him to maintain that they should be pronounced
as if ryming “with breather, one who breathes.” He was compelled,
however, to admit that the “long _i_” sound was heard so frequently
that it was hardly possible in insist exclusively upon the other. He
did the best he could, nevertheless, to ignore it and thereby banish
it. While in the introduction to his dictionary he recognized the
existence of both sounds, in the body of his work that of “long _e_”
was the only one given. In this course he was followed by his reviser,
Smart, who succeeded to his name, and up to a certain degree to his
authority. Smart went even further than his predecessor. He was
apparently ignorant of the fact--he certainly ignored it--that any
other pronunciation of these words than that of “long _e_” was known to
the English people. But in spite of its defiance of analogy and of the
hostility of lexicographers, the sound of “long _i_” continued to make
its way. The fact has sometimes excited the indignation of orthoepists.
Yet it is hard to understand how any one who cherishes the vagaries
of English spelling should get into a state of excitement about the
vagaries of its pronunciation.

Neither the digraph _eo_ nor _eu_ is found often. The first, however,
improves fully the opportunity presented of making it difficult, if not
impossible, for the learner to get any idea of the pronunciation from
the spelling. In _people_ it has the sound of “long _e_”; in _leopard_
and _jeopard_ it has the sound of short _e_. In _yeoman_ again it has
the sound of long _o_. _Eu_ has practically the same sound as _ew_, as
can be exemplified in _feud_ and _few_. This last digraph, however,
represents the long sound of _u_ as well as that in which iotization
precedes the vowel. The difference in the pronunciation of _drew_ and
_dew_ will make manifest the contrast. There is always a tendency,
however, for the digraph to pass from the latter sound to the former
in a tongue in which there is nothing in the orthography to fix a
precise value upon the sign indicating both. “According to my v’oo,”
Oliver Wendell Holmes, in his _Elsie Venner_, has one of his characters
saying. “The unspeakable pronunciation of this word,” he adds in a
parenthesis, “is the touchstone of New England Brahminism.” In another
place in the same novel he still further enforces this point. “The
Doctor,” he wrote, among his other recommendations to the hero, says to
him, “you can pronounce the word _view_.” And yet in it the iotization
is plainly indicated by the vowel itself, while in such words as _hew_
and _few_ and _new_ there is nothing to fix definitely the sound.
Finally, it remains to say of this digraph that _shew_ and _strew_, two
verbs once spelled with it, have now become _show_ and _strow_, a form
more in accordance with their pronunciation. There is no particular
reason why _sew_ should not follow their example in substituting an _o_
for an _e_.

The digraph _ie_ is represented but by three vowel sounds. The most
common one is that of “long _e_”--seen, for example, in _chief_,
_grieve_, _believe_. But the sound of “long _i_” is heard in no small
number of words, especially monosyllabic words ending in _ie_, such as
_lie_, _die_, _tie_. In one instance it has the sound of short _e_.
Accordingly, in it the first vowel is distinctly superfluous. This
is the word _friend_. Its Anglo-Saxon original is _freónd_, just as
that of _fiend_ is _feónd_ or _fiónd_. One of the small jokes of the
opponents of spelling reform is a professed unwillingness “to knock the
eye out of a friend.” Disparaging remarks have been made about this
as an argument--as it seems to me, with no justification. Compared
with most of the objections brought against the efforts to wash the
dirty face of our orthography and make it decently presentable, this
particular argument against dropping the _i_ out of _friend_ is, as I
look at it, the strongest that has been or can be adduced. It reminds
one, indeed, of the objection the French writer made to the dropping of
the _h_ out of _rhinoceros_. The animal would lose his horn and become
nothing more than a sheep.

As a matter of linguistic history, however, it was not until late in
the sixteenth century that the _i_, though found long before, appeared
in the word _friend_ to an extent worth considering. There were several
ways in which it had been spelled previously. Of these _frend_ was
naturally a common one in days when the belief still lingered that the
office of orthography was to represent pronunciation and not to get as
far away from it as possible. Take, as an illustration, the treatise
entitled _The Schoolmaster_ of the great English scholar, Roger
Ascham. This appeared in 1570. In it the word _friend_ occurs just
twenty-five times. It is regularly spelled _frend_, with the exception
of one instance, where the intruding _i_ is found. So also _frendly_
is invariably the form of the adjective, and _frendship_ that of the
derivative noun.[22]

_Oa_, the next digraph in order, comes very near attaining the
distinction of being represented by a single sound. It occurs in a
fairly large number of words which can be represented by _oar_, _coat_,
_loaf_. It is saved, however, from the reproach of regularity by
having the sound of the _a_ of “ball” in the words _broad_, _abroad_,
and _groat_. _Oe_ is not so common, but, like its reverse _eo_, what
it lacks in number of words it makes up in variety of pronunciation.
In _foe_, _hoe_, and _toe_ it has the sound of long _o_. In _canoe_
and _shoe_ it has the sound of long _u_. In these instances it forms
the termination of words. Not so in _does_, where it has the sound we
call “short _u_.” The use of this digraph, like that of _ae_, has been
much restricted. For instance, the word we now spell _fetid_ was once
generally spelled _fœtid_. So, in truth, it continued to be till the
nineteenth century. The digraph, indeed, still lingers in the name of
the drug _asafœtida_, though in the instance of this word the long
sound has given way to the short. Not unlike, in some particulars, has
been the fortune of certain other terms. Take, for instance, the word
_economy_. Its remote Greek original began with _oi_, which in English,
as in Latin, appeared with the form _œ_, and sometimes erroneously _æ_.
For these was found occasionally the simple _e_. In the nineteenth
century this last displaced the two others, and gave to the first
syllable the present standard form. One of the results, however, of
this sort of substitution is that no one seems to be certain whether he
ought to pronounce the initial _e_ of _economic_ as long or short.

The ordinary sound of _oo_, the next digraph to be considered,
is that of long _u_, as we see it in _moon_, _soon_, _food_. But
there are about half a dozen words--throwing derivatives out of
consideration--in which it has the short sound of _u_. The difference
can be plainly observed by contrasting the pronunciation of the digraph
in the two words _mood_ and _wood_. Furthermore, _oo_ is to be credited
with two more sounds. One is that of the “short _u_” seen in _blood_
and _flood_. The other is the long sound of _o_ in _door_ and _floor_,
anciently spelled _dore_ and _flore_. _Dore_, for instance, can be
found in Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, and even as late as Bunyan.

The digraph _ou_ is perhaps the banner sign for the frequency of its
occurrence and the variety of sounds it indicates. As it appears most
commonly, it is a genuine diphthong, as seen in such words as _loud_,
_sour_, _mouth_. But there is another large body of words in which
the sign has a sound essentially distinct. It can be observed in such
words as _group_, _youth_, _tour_. It gives one a peculiar idea of
the worth of English orthography as a guide to pronunciation that in
_thou_, the singular of the pronoun of the second person, _ou_ has one
value, and in its plural, _you_, it has a value altogether different.
The same observation is true of the possessives _our_ and _your_. There
are two or three words in which these two signs have had for a long
period a struggle for the ascendancy. Take the case of the substantive
_wound_. One gets the impression from poetry that in this word the
_ou_ constitutes a genuine diphthong. There is no question that it
rymes regularly with words containing the diphthongal sound here given.
Perhaps that was a necessity; it had to ryme with such or not ryme
at all. Still, the verse seems pretty surely to have represented the
common pronunciation. In the couplets of Pope, the poetic authority
of the eighteenth century, it is joined, for instance, with _bound_,
_found_, _ground_. Yet this same pronunciation was unequivocally
condemned by Walker at the end of the same century. “To _wound_,” he
writes, “is sometimes pronounced so as to rhyme with _found_; but this
is directly contrary to the best usage.”

This same uncertainty in the pronunciation of words in consequence of
the uncertainty of the pronunciation of the signs employed to represent
it may be further exemplified in the case of the noun _route_. Unlike
_wound_, which is a pure native word, this is of French extraction.
Following the analogy of most of the words so derived, it ought to have
the second sound given here to the digraph. Yet it not unfrequently
receives that of the first. Thus Walker graciously tells us that
it is often pronounced so as to ryme with _doubt_ “by respectable
speakers.” A far more interesting case is that of _pour_. The majority
of eighteenth century orthoepists--Johnston, Kenrick, Perry, Smith,
and Walker--pronounced the word so as to ryme with _power_. Spenser so
employed it. So did Pope, more than a century later. In the only two
instances he uses the word in his regular poetry at the end of a line
it has this sound. In his _Messiah_ occurs the following couplet:

  Ye Heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour:
  And in soft silence shed the kindly shower.

Walker, indeed, declared unreservedly that the best pronunciation
of it is “that similar to _power_.” Nares alone among eighteenth
century orthoepists seems to have upheld what is now the customary
pronunciation; yet even here the authority of some of the greatest of
modern poets has been occasionally cast in favor of the once accepted
sound. In his poem of _The Poet’s Mind_, Tennyson, for instance, writes:

  Holy water will I pour
  Into every spicy flower.

The digraph is far from being limited to the sounds heard respectively
in _thou_ and _you_. Another one is that of long _o_, found, for
illustration, in _dough_, _soul_, _mould_. There is still another
sound--that of the so-called “broad _a_”--which is heard in
_brought_, _ought_, and _wrought_. A fifth sound represented is that
of the regular short _u_ seen in _would_, _could_, and _should_. In
_cough_ and _trough_, as pronounced by many, there is a sixth sound
represented. In the course of its travels through the vowel sounds
the sign reaches that which we commonly call “short _u_.” There is
no small number of words in which this pronunciation of it appears.
_Country_, _journey_, _trouble_, _flourish_ may be given as examples.
_Ou_, in truth, has a remarkable record, not so much by the number of
sounds it represents--in this it is approached by two or three other
digraphs--but by the comparative largeness of the body of words in
which several of these different sounds appear. In the latter respect,
but not at all in the former, is it rivalled by the analogous _ow_.
This, common as it is, has but two sounds. The first and most frequent
is that heard in _brown_, _down_, and _vowel_; the second is the long
_o_ sound heard in such words as _blow_, _grow_, and _below_.

We now reach the digraphs of which the vowel _u_ is the first letter.
In a large number of words this has, if pronounced, the sound of _w_.
Especially is this true of syllables upon which no accent falls, or
at most a secondary accent. Nothing of this characteristic is seen in
the case of _uy_--in which the diphthongal sound of _i_ is heard in
the two words _buy_ and _guy_--but it is noticeable in the case of the
first four vowels. We can see it illustrated by the _ua_ of _assuage_,
_persuade_, _language_; by the _ue_ of _conquest_, _request_, and
_desuetude_; by the _ui_ of _anguish_, _languish_, _cuirass_; and by
the _uo_ of _quote_, _quota_, _quorum_. In this last case the _u_
strictly belongs with _q_. Of _ua_, the first of these digraphs, all
that needs to be said is that in certain words, such as _guard_ and
_guardian_, the _u_ is not pronounced at all. The same statement can be
made of _ue_ in _guess_, _guest_, _guerdon_. It is as useless as it is
silent. A plea has been put forth in justification of its existence on
the theory that it acts as a sort of servile instrument to protect the
hard sound of _g_. If this digraph were invariably so employed, it may
be conceded that there would be some sense in its existence. But he who
expects to find either sense or consistency in English orthography has
strayed beyond the limits of justifiable ignorance. There is a large
number of instances in which the consonant _g_ continues to exhibit
its hard sound when followed directly by _e_. _Get_ and _geese_ and
_gewgaw_ and _eager_ and _anger_ are a few of the words which could be
adduced to show that there has never been felt any necessity of the
presence of a protecting _u_ to indicate this pronunciation.

When at the end of a word the digraph _ue_ has often the sound of long
_u_, as in _blue_, _pursue_, _true_, and _rue_. But no small number
of instances occur in which it is entirely silent. This is especially
noticeable in words derived from the Greek which have the final
syllables _logue_ or _gogue_. _Catalogue_, _prologue_, _dialogue_,
_demagogue_, _pedagogue_, and _synagogue_ will serve as examples. But
the list of words in which this digraph is silent is far from being
confined to those with these two terminations. _Antique_, _oblique_,
_intrigue_, _colleague_, _fatigue_, _rogue_, and _plague_ will testify
to the uselessness of it as far as pronunciation is concerned, unless
it be maintained that it justifies its existence by indicating that
the preceding vowel has a long sound. If this be true, it ought not
to appear when the vowel is short. One sees so much of the results of
freak and wantonness in our spelling that it is permissible to cherish
the fancy that any intelligent principle has been sometime somewhere
at work in it, and that a feeling of this kind was the unconscious
motive that led to the adoption of _packet_ in place of _pacquet_
and of _lackey_ for _lacquey_; at any rate, of _risk_ for the once
prevalent _risque_ and of _check_ for _cheque_. But no such reason can
be assigned for the _ue_ of _tongue_. Its original was _tunge_. The
final _e_ ceased to be pronounced, and in course of time to be printed.
The insertion of a _u_ in the ending, after the fashion of the French
_langue_, was an act of combined ignorance and folly.

The digraph _ui_ follows in general the course of _ue_. As in the case
of the latter the _u_ was found unneeded in _guess_ and _guest_, so
it is equally unnecessary in _guide_ and _guile_. Here again a not
dissimilar sort of defence for it has been set up. Its retention, we
are told, is desirable in order to indicate the diphthongal sound
of _i_ in these words. The argument is as futile as in the case of
the preceding digraph. It illustrates forcibly the capabilities of
our spelling in the way of confusing pronunciation that the same
combination which is responsible for “long _i_” in _guide_ and _guile_
and _disguise_ is equally responsible for the short _i_ of _guilt_,
_guinea_, and _build_. With the statement that _ui_ has still another
sound in such words as _fruit_, _bruise_, and _recruit_, we leave the
consideration of the vowels and vowel sounds. But after the survey of
the subject which has just been made, no one is likely to pretend that
the pronunciation he hears of any one of these in a strange word will
furnish him the least surety that he will be able to reproduce its
authorized form in writing.


                                   V

                            THE CONSONANTS

So much for the vowels. When we come to the consonants we are
approaching much more solid phonetic ground. In a general way, they
have remained faithful to the sounds they were created to indicate.
Not but that here also there is need of reform. This will be made
sufficiently manifest when details are given in the case of individual
letters. But the disorganization of the consonant-system is slight
compared with that of the vowel-system. There is, indeed, a fundamental
difference between the two. With the vowels conformity to any phonetic
law whatever is the exception and not the rule. With the consonants the
reverse is the case. Fortunate it is for the English-speaking race that
such is the fact. Were it otherwise, were there with the consonants
the same degree of irregularity which exists with the vowels, the
same degree of variableness in the representation of sounds, the
same widely prevalent indifference to analogy, knowledge of English
spelling would not be delayed, as it is now, for no more than two or
three years beyond the normal time of its acquisition; it would be the
work of a lifetime. Mastery of it, under existing conditions never
fully gained by some, would in such circumstances never be acquired by
anybody who learned anything else.

There is one pervading characteristic of the consonants which
differentiates their position in the orthography from that of the
vowels. Wherever they appear they have ordinarily the pronunciation
which is theirs by right. Ordinarily, not invariably. There are
exceptions that demand full discussion. Still, the usual way in which
consonants vary from the phonetic standard is not by being pronounced
differently but by not being pronounced at all. In some instances the
useless letter represents the derivation; in others it defies it.
They have been retained in the spelling, though never pronounced,
either because they are found in the primitive from which they came;
or they have been introduced into it under the influence of a false
analogy, or as a consequence of a false derivation. In any reform of
the orthography it may not be desirable in some cases to drop--at all
events at the outset--these now silent letters. It assuredly would
not be so wherever the tendency manifests itself to resume them in
pronunciation.

There are four of the consonants which practically do not vary from
phonetic law. They are never silent; they always indicate the precise
pronunciation which they purport to indicate. In the case of two of
them there is in each a single instance in which the rule does not
hold good. In the preposition _of_, _f_ has the sound of _v_. In the
matter of inflection the temptation to retain this letter in spite of
the change of sound has been successfully resisted. So we very properly
say _calves_ and _wolves_ instead of _calfs_ and _wolfs_, though
this course exhibits what some must feel to be a scandalous tendency
toward phonetic spelling. The other letter is _m_. The only exception
to its regular pronunciation is found in the word sometimes spelled
_comptroller_. Here it has the sound of _n_. But this has already
been pointed out as a well-known spurious form based upon a spurious
derivation. Its first syllable was supposed to come from the French
_compter_ and not from its real original, the Latin _contra_. The
affection for this corrupt form now felt by some is in curious contrast
with the attitude taken toward _count_ both as a verb and a noun. These
words were once often spelled like the corresponding French _compte_
and _compter_. There was justification for this. They all came from the
remote Latin original _computare_, in which the _p_ is found. Naturally
this particular spelling was especially prevalent in the sixteenth
century, when derivation ran rampant in the orthography; but the
practice extended much later. Had _compt_ continued in use and fastened
itself upon the language, we can imagine, but we cannot adequately
express, the indignation that would now be felt by many worthy people
at the proposal of any reformer to substitute for it _count_, and the
picture of ruin to the speech that would be drawn as a result of such a
wanton defiance of the derivation.

Let us now consider the unpronounced consonants. In the remote past
such letters when no longer wanted were regularly dropped. Now they are
as regularly retained. They are retained not because they are needed,
but because they have become familiar to the eye. They naturally fall
into three classes, according as they appear at the beginning, at the
end, or in the middle of a word. To the first class belong _g_ and _k_
when followed by _n_; _w_ followed by _ho_ or by _r_; and the aspirate
_h_. The failure to pronounce this last in certain words is too well
known to need here more than a reference. Elsewhere, too, I have given
an account of the gradual resumption of the sound of this letter.[23]

There are about half a dozen words in which an initial _g_ is silent.
Of these _gnaw_ and _gnat_ may be taken as examples. There are more
than double this number in which an initial _k_ before the same letter
_n_ is not heard. These are adequately represented, with the different
vowels following, by _knave_, _knee_, _knife_, _know_, and _knuckle_.
Still more frequently unsounded is an initial _w_. There are fully two
dozen and a half of words in which this letter is not pronounced. The
class finds satisfactory exemplification in _who_, _whole_, _wrap_,
_wrest_, _wrist_, _wrong_, and _wry_. In making up these numbers it
must be kept in mind that neither derivatives nor compounds are taken
into account. Were such to be included, the list would be largely
swelled.

In the cases just considered a letter once sounded has disappeared from
the spoken tongue. The fact of its disappearance from pronunciation
has not, however, induced men, as was once the practice, to discard
it from the written tongue. But there are instances in which the
initial consonant has never been heard at all in the utterance of
any speakers. The words to which they belong are of foreign origin.
They come to us with the foreign spelling. In many cases, or rather in
most, they are from the Greek. The conspicuous examples are the _c_ of
_czar_, now frequently spelled _tsar_ with the _t_ sounded, the _p_ of
_psalm_ and _pseudo_ and of several compounds in which the _psi_ of the
Hellenic alphabet furnishes the initial letter. The same uselessness
extends to _ph_--seen, for illustration, in the form _phthisic_--and
to the _p_ of words of Greek origin beginning with _pt_. It may be
remarked in passing that there is a curious blunder in the spelling
of the name of the bird called the _ptarmigan_. This is a pure Celtic
word, which begins with _t_. To it a _p_ was prefixed, possibly because
it was supposed to be of Greek origin.

The final consonants which are retained in the spelling but are not
heard in the pronunciation are _b_, _n_, _h_, _t_, _w_, and _x_.
The words possessing them may be divided into two classes. In one
the useless letter has a sort of claim to existence. It was there
originally. Let us begin with the unpronounced final _b_. The native
words ending in it are _climb_, _comb_, _dumb_, and _lamb_. They
are common to the various Teutonic languages. In all of these they
terminated originally with this consonant. To the list may be added
_plumb_, ‘perpendicular,’ coming remotely from the Latin _plumbum_,
‘lead.’ The spelling of these words underwent the usual variations
common before a fixed orthography had fastened itself upon the speech.
Naturally the unpronounced _b_ was not unfrequently dropped. This
was especially true of _climb_ and _dumb_. Take as an illustration
Spenser’s line, where he speaks of a castle-wall,

  That was so high as foe might not it clime.[24]

But after the reign of Elizabeth the useless letter gradually but
firmly fixed its hold upon the spelling in the case of all these words.
In this respect English has had a different development from that of
other Teutonic tongues. Take modern German, for instance. For the word
corresponding to _climb_ it has replaced the original _chlimban_ by
_klimmen_; for _chamb_, ‘comb,’ it has substituted _kamm_; for _dumb_
in Old High German _tumb_, it has _dumm_; for _lamb_, in Old High
German _lamb_, it has _lamm_. The dropping of the final _b_ seems to
have wrought no observable harm to the language nor occasioned any
grief--at all events, any present grief--to its users.

Still, it may be maintained in justification of the present spelling
of these words that they are entitled to the final _b_ on the ground
of derivation. But no such plea can be put up in the case of those now
to be considered. These are _crumb_, _limb_, _numb_, and _thumb_. In
all of these the last letter is not only useless, but according to the
term one chooses to employ, it is either a blunder or a corruption. It
did not exist in the original. In truth, this unnecessary consonant
threatened at one time to fasten itself also upon the name of the
fruit called the _plum_. Especially was this noticeable in the best
literature of the eighteenth century. An attack of common sense, to
which the users of our orthography have been occasionally liable,
prevented this particular word from carrying about the burden of
the unpronounced _b_. In the case of most of the others it was not
until the sixteenth century that the practice began of appending the
unauthorized and unneeded letter. It took something of a struggle to
foist it upon these words; but not so much, indeed, as will be required
to loose the hold it has now gained over the hearts of thousands.

There are a few words, almost all of Latin derivation, in which a
final _n_ appears unsounded. _Kiln_ is perhaps the only one of English
extraction in which this peculiarity appears. In the case of most of
them the retention of the letter may be defended--at least it may be
palliated--on the ground that in the derivatives its pronunciation is
resumed. In _autumn_, _column_, _condemn_, _hymn_, and _limn_ the _n_
is silent, but it gives distinct evidence of its existence in words
like _autumnal_, _columnar_, _condemnation_, _hymnal_, _limner_, and
_solemnity_. In fact, this resumption of the sound has at times been
made to appear in other parts of the verbs containing this silent
letter. Especially has this been true of _hymning_ and _limning_, the
participles of _hymn_ and _limn_. It was a practice which much grieved
certain of the earlier orthoepists. They took the ground that analogy
forbade any sound not belonging to the principal verb itself to be
heard in any of its parts. The observation is only noticeable for
its revelation of the fact that it should enter into the head of any
advocate of the existing orthography to set up analogy as a convincing
reason for pronouncing any English word in a particular way.

Three of these final unpronounced letters do not need protracted
consideration. In the digraph _ow_, ending such words as _low_,
_flow_, and _sow_, the _w_ serves no particular use. According to some
it justifies its existence by indicating the quality of the preceding
vowel. Its value in this respect may be estimated by comparing the
pronunciation of _bow_, a missile weapon for discharging an arrow,
with _bow_, an inclination of the head, or _bow_, the fore-end of
a boat. The next letter _t_, when a final consonant, is invariably
heard, save in some imperfectly naturalized words. Of these _eclat_
and _billet-doux_ may be taken as examples. In England, however--not
in the United States--there is a single and singular survival of
the original French pronunciation in the case of a word received
into full citizenship. This is the noun _trait_, which came into the
language in the eighteenth century. Naturally its final letter was
at first not sounded. The tendency so to do, however, soon showed
itself. Lexicographers authorized it, indeed favored it; but for some
inexplicable reason Englishmen have never taken kindly to the complete
naturalization of the word. “The _t_,” said Walker, at the end of the
eighteenth century, “begins to be pronounced.” Had he been living at
the end of the nineteenth, he would have been justified in saying
precisely the same thing as regards England. It was beginning then; it
is beginning now; but it is only beginning.

A final _h_ is not pronounced when preceded by a vowel; when preceded
by the consonant _g_ it forms a digraph which will be considered later.
There are fewer than a dozen words of the former class in which it
appears. Among these are the interjections, _ah_, _eh_, and _oh_. Here
again, as in the case of _w_, the existence of the letter is defended
on the ground that it indicates the quality of the preceding vowel.
Yet for this purpose it can hardly be deemed a necessity. We use it in
the case of _ah_; but we get along very well without it in the case of
_ha_. This, too, was formerly sometimes spelled _hah_. _Oh_, likewise,
was once widely found in the very instances and the very senses where
we now use the single letter _O_. In two other words, _Messiah_ and
_hallelujah_, the _h_ may be retained because of the sacredness of
associations which have gathered about them. Yet the former word was
itself a sixteenth-century alteration of the previous _Messias_.

The unpronounced final _k_ belongs strictly to the class of double
letters of which it is not my purpose to treat. It invariably follows
_c_, and is really nothing but a duplicate of it. Still, as the sign
is a different representation of the same sound, it may be well
to bestow upon it a brief attention. At the end of the eighteenth
and the beginning of the nineteenth century it was dropped, after a
warm contest, from words of Latin derivation. But the reform did not
extend to those of native origin. In many cases a _k_ has been added
to words which originally ended in _c_. Especially was this true of
monosyllables. Thus the earliest form of _back_ was _bæc_, of _sack_
was _sac_, of _sick_ was _seoc_. This was the case not only with a good
many monosyllables to which a _k_ is now appended, but to a certain
extent with dissyllables also. The fact is best exemplified in the
words which have the ending _ock_. This sometimes represents the early
English diminutive _uc_, which became later _oc_ or _ok_. From the
point of view of derivation the modern spelling is distinctly improper.
Thus, for illustration, _bullock_, _haddock_, _hassock_, _hillock_,
and _mattock_ were in their earliest known forms _bulluc_, _haddoc_,
_hassuc_, _hilloc_, and _mattuc_. Several words not of native origin
have also adopted this ending. _Hammock_, from the Spanish _hamaca_,
itself of Carib origin, has conformed to it. It has supplied itself
with a final _k_. During the last century _havoc_ managed to get rid of
this consonant, with which it had been encumbered, without exciting
any special remark. But now that the uselessness of a letter has become
to many one of the chief recommendations of the spelling, the dropping
of an unnecessary _k_ from any of the other words of this class would
bring unspeakable anguish to thousands.

There are more consonants which are unpronounced in the middle of words
than at the beginning or the end. They are _b_, _c_, _l_, _g_, _h_,
_p_, _s_, _t_, _w_, and _z_. In the case of some of them--the two last,
for instance--the words in which the unpronounced letter appears are
very few. In _rendezvous_ _z_ is not sounded. It is the only instance
in which this consonant is not heard, and this is due to the fact that
it is not heard in its French original. Again, it is only in _answer_,
_sword_, and _two_ that the medial _w_ is silent. Unpronounced
consonants are more frequent in the case of the other letters, but,
after all, they are not numerous in themselves. Still, their presence
has its usual effect. In every instance it raises a stumbling-block in
the way of the proper pronunciation. Furthermore, it has in some cases
either hidden the right derivation entirely or given a wrong idea of it.

Take the example of the medial _b_ in _debt_ and _doubt_. These words,
coming originally from the French, were introduced into the language
with the spelling, _dette_, _det_, and _doute_, _dout_. So for a long
time they were spelled. Deference to the remote Latin original, which
sprang up with the revival of learning, introduced the unauthorized _b_
into the world. It has already been pointed out that this has given
an opportunity, which has been fully improved, for the devotees of
derivation to exhibit their usual inconsistency. When the presence of
unpronounced letters in the case of other words presents an obstacle
to correct pronunciation, then its retention is insisted upon as
essential to our knowledge of its immediate origin, to the purity of
the language itself, and to the happiness of those speaking it. But
no advocate of the existing orthography could be induced to part with
the _b_ of _debt_ and _doubt_, though its presence comes into direct
conflict with the views he is championing in the case of other words.
At times attempts were apparently made to pronounce the inserted _b_.
In the full Latinized form _debit_, which was early in use, there
was no difficulty. Indeed, it was a necessity. Not so in the form
_debt_. Yet it is evident from _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ that there were
men who sought to accomplish this feat. It is difficult to ascertain
whether speaker or hearer suffered more in consequence of this effort.
If unsuccessful, it was the speaker; if successful, the pain was
transferred to the hearer.

One curious blunder has been foisted upon our spelling by the desire
of men to go back to the Latin original of these words instead of
contenting themselves with the immediate French one. The insertion
of _b_ is bad enough in _redoubted_ and _redoubtable_. These came
to us from the latter tongue, and at first appeared in English in
the forms _redouted_ and _redoutable_. Later the classical influence
made itself felt and the _b_ was inserted. Palliation for it could
be pleaded on the ground that the letter belonged to the remote
original. But no defence of this sort could be of avail in the case of
the word denoting the military outwork called a _redoubt_. This has
not the slightest connection either in sense or origin with the two
adjectives just specified. It comes directly from the French _redout_
and remotely from the Latin _reductus_, ‘withdrawn,’ ‘retired,’ which
received at a later period the meaning of ‘a place of refuge.’ But it
was ignorantly supposed that it came from the same source as the verb
_redoubt_ and its past participle _redoubted_. So from the beginning
of the introduction of the word into the language, in the early part
of the seventeenth century, an unauthorized _b_ was made part of it.
It is now dear to the hearts of millions. What the blundering of one
age perpetrated the superstition of succeeding ages has invested with
peculiar sanctity.

The cases in which _c_ follows _s_ present several choice examples of
the vagaries which make English orthography a wonder to those who study
its history, and a perpetual joy and boast to those who in this matter
succeed in keeping the purity of their ignorance from being denied by
the slightest stain of knowledge. In the words _scene_, _scepter_, and
_sciatica_, coming directly or remotely from the Greek, the letter
represents an original _k_. So, useless as it is, its retention may
be defended on the ground that if it be not the same letter, it ought
to be, since it has the same value. The similar apology of respect
for derivation may be urged for the unpronounced _c_ of _science_,
_scintilla_, and _sciolist_. But in the case of _scent_, _scion_,
_scimitar_, _scissors_, and _scythe_, no such plea can be made. In
the instance of all these there is not the slightest justification
for the unnecessary _c_. _Scent_ comes from the Latin _sent-ire_, ‘to
perceive.’ Until the seventeenth century it was regularly spelled
_sent_. _Scythe_, from the Anglo-Saxon _sîthe_, once frequently and
now occasionally has its strictly correct etymological form. _Scion_
is from the old French _sion_. _Scimitar_ and _scissors_ have had a
wide variety of spellings during the course of their history. English
orthography has exhibited, as is not unusual, a perverse preference for
the ones which depart furthest from the pronunciation.

The instances where _g_ is silent within a word are those in which it
is found preceding _m_ or _n_. Its presence it owes, in most instances,
to derivation. Examples of it can be found in a number of words of
Greek extraction, of which _paradigm_, _diaphragm_, and _phlegm_ may
be given. With a following _n_ it can be represented by _campaign_,
_feign_, _sign_, and _impugn_. As has been the case with the final _n_
of certain words, so also the pronunciation of the _g_ is resumed in
the derivatives. That may be deemed by some a justification for its
retention in the primitive--at least, for the time being. With _sign_
we have _signify_, with _malign_ we have _malignity_, with _phlegm_ we
have _phlegmatic_. But the _g_ is a particularly ridiculous intruder in
the words _foreign_ and _sovereign_. The former is from the Old French
_forein_, which itself comes from the popular Latin _foraneus_, and
this in turn comes from the classical Latin _foras_, ‘out of doors.’
_Sovereign_ is a spelling just as bad. It comes from the Old French
_sovrain_, the Low Latin _superanus_, ‘supreme,’ which was formed upon
the preposition _super_, ‘above.’ The insertion of a _g_ was a blunder
for which our race has the sole responsibility.

There are two kinds of words in which _h_ is silent following an
initial letter. This is invariably true of words of Greek extraction
beginning with _rh_. _Rhetoric_, _rheumatic_, and _rhubarb_ may serve
as specimens. In these, as in those like them, the _h_ was wanting in
Old French. Consequently, it was at first wanting in English also.
But the deference to derivation which prevailed among the classically
educated after the revival of learning, raised havoc here with the
spelling as it did in so many other instances. The unpronounced _h_ was
inserted into all these words. This began in the sixteenth century. It
gradually established itself firmly in the orthography. There it has
remained ever since, though no one pretends that it serves any purpose
save that of indicating to the few, who do not need to be informed,
that the aspirate existed in the original from which these words were
derived. But even this pitiable reason cannot be pleaded in the case
of the noticeable words in which _h_ follows an initial _g_. These are
_ghastly_ and _aghast_, _ghost_, and _gherkin_. In not one of them,
except the last, did _h_ appear till many hundred years after the
words had been in existence. To not one of them does the useless letter
belong by right. Indeed, it was apparently not till the nineteenth
century that it was foisted into _gherkin_ as the regular spelling,
though it had cropped up before. There would be just as much sense in
spelling _German_ as _Gherman_, and _goat_ as _ghoat_, as there is in
the intrusion of the _h_ into the words just mentioned. This is equally
true of _anchor_.

There is, however, one further peculiarity about this letter. In the
spelling of certain words it follows _w_, in the pronunciation of
them it precedes it. But the fashion of suppressing the sound of the
aspirate in the combination _wh_ is very characteristic of the speech
of England, at least of some parts of it. The prevalence of this sort
of pronunciation which makes no distinction, for example, between
_where_ and _wear_, between _Whig_ and _wig_, between _while_ and
_wile_, was a subject of great, and it may be added, of justifiable
grief to the earlier orthoepists. Walker complained bitterly of the
extent of its use in London. He was anxious that men should “avoid this
feeble Cockney pronunciation which is so disagreeable to a correct
ear.” Fortunately for the speech this suppression of the aspirate has
not extended much beyond the southern half of England. In America
it rarely takes place. There is, therefore, every likelihood of this
pronunciation being eventually crushed, not so much because of its own
inherent viciousness as by the mere weight of numbers.

There is a limited body of words in which _l_ and _p_ are silent. The
former letter in such cases as _balm_ and _calm_, for instance, may
perhaps have been effective in preserving the sound of the preceding
vowel. The most signal example of its appearance, where it has no
justification for its existence, is in the word _could_. This takes
the place of the earlier and more correct _coude_, _coud_. The _l_
was introduced by a false analogy with _would_ and _should_. These
two last words, it may be added, at times dropped this letter, to
which etymologically they were entitled, out of deference to the
pronunciation, just as _could_, though not entitled to it, assumed it
in defiance of the pronunciation.

The most noticeable instances in which _p_ is not pronounced
are when it follows _m_ and is itself followed by _t_. _Empty_,
_tempt_, _prompt_, and _sumptuous_ will supply a sufficient number
of illustrations. In most of these cases the letter still appears
because it was in the original. In _empty_, however, it is a later
insertion. There are two or three sporadic instances in which a _p_ is
present but fails to be called upon for duty. Such are _raspberry_ and
_receipt_. In the first of these two _rasberry_ seems to have been for
a long time the preferred spelling. Unless there is a prospect that the
sound of the letter will be resumed in the pronunciation, there is no
apparent reason why we should not go back to the once more common form.
But _receipt_, with the allied _conceit_ and _deceit_, furnishes as
good an illustration as can well be offered of the vagaries of English
orthography, and of the system which has prevailed in and the sense
which has presided over its development. These three words all come
remotely from the three closely allied participial forms _receptus_,
_conceptus_, and _deceptus_. The earlier most common spelling of the
first was _receit_ or _receyt_. While the form with the inserted _p_
existed previously, it was not till the Elizabethan period that it
began to be much in evidence. Furthermore, it was not till the latter
part of the seventeenth century that the unnecessary letter established
itself in the unfortunate word. _Conceit_ and _deceit_ went through
what was in many respects the same experience. The forms _conceipt_ and
_deceipt_ were found not unfrequently. But in them the _p_ failed to
maintain itself. So words from a common Latin root have developed two
different ways of spelling, with not the slightest reason in the nature
of things why any distinction whatever should be made between them.

The silence of _s_ in some few words, such as _isle_, _aisle_, and
_island_, has already been mentioned. In _viscount_ it is also
suppressed, doubtless in deference to the French original. But in the
middle of words _t_ is far more frequently left unpronounced than _s_.
This is especially noticeable when it is followed by _le_ on the one
hand, as can be seen in _castle_, _wrestle_, _thistle_, _ostler_, and
_rustle_; on the other hand, when followed by _en_, as in _fasten_,
_hasten_, _listen_, and _moisten_. There are a few other words besides
those with these endings in which it is silent. Such are _Christmas_,
_chestnut_, _mortgage_, _bankruptcy_. That it should not be heard in
words of French origin like _billet-doux_ and _hautbois_ is not hard to
understand; they have never been fully naturalized.

This exhausts the list of simple consonants that are found in the
written language, but are not heard in the spoken. There remains,
however, a digraph which is encountered too frequently not to receive
brief mention. This is _gh_, both at the end and in the middle of
words. In these positions it once stood for something. It had,
therefore, originally a right to the place in which it now appears. But
the guttural sound it indicated disappeared long ago from the usage of
all of us. Even the knowledge that it had ever existed has disappeared
from the memory of most of us, if it was ever found there. Accordingly
it serves now no other purpose than to act as a sort of tombstone to
mark the place where lie the unsightly remains of a dead and forgotten
pronunciation. The useless digraph is still seen at the end of numerous
words of which _weigh_, _high_, and _dough_ may be taken as examples.
Again an unpronounced medial _gh_ is seen in _neighbor_ and a large
number of words ending in _ght_, such as _caught_, _height_, _fight_,
and _thought_. In many of these words the digraph was frequently
dropped in those earlier days when there was a perverse propensity
to make the spelling show some respect to the pronunciation. _High_,
for instance, often appeared in the forms _hye_, _hy_; _nigh_ in the
forms _nye_, _ny_. This is now all changed. The disposition to pander
to any sneaking desire to bring about a scandalous conformity between
orthography and orthoepy is steadily frowned upon by those who have
been good enough to take upon their shoulders the burden of preserving
what they are pleased to call the purity of the English language.

This survey of the subject, brief as it is, brings out distinctly the
superiority of the consonant system over the vowel, in the matter of
unpronounced letters. Far from perfect as is the former, it shines by
contrast with the latter. The useless consonant appears in but a few
words, where the useless vowel appears in scores. But when we pass on
to the cases in which the sign is represented by any but its legitimate
sound, the contrast between the two classes of letters becomes far
more noticeable. It is the superiority in this particular which
alone makes our present spelling endurable. Most of the consonants,
if pronounced at all, have in all cases one and the same sound. Any
possible acquisition of the speech in the term of a man’s natural life
has depended upon the fact that these members of the alphabet are in
general really phonetic. Their faithfulness to their legitimate sounds
stands in sharpest contrast to the almost hopeless disorganization
which has overtaken the vowels. In the case of some of the consonants
there is never any variation from their proper pronunciation. In the
case of others the exceptions to the regular practice are purely
sporadic. The _p_ of _cupboard_, for instance, has the sound of _b_,
the _j_ of _hallelujah_ has the sound of _y_. Even these exceptions
which have prevailed in the past there has been a tendency to reduce,
owing to the operation of agencies of which there will be occasion to
speak later.

This last statement needs modification in the case of one letter. In
modern times there has been a tendency to represent the sound of _t_
in the preterite and past participle by _d_, or, rather, _ed_. As
compared with the usage of the past, this practice has made a good deal
of headway. It is the substitution of a formal regularity of spelling
which appeals to the eye over its proper use to indicate the sound to
the ear. We have not yet got so far as to write _sleeped_ for _slept_
or _feeled_ for _felt_, but we have frequently _dwelled_ for _dwelt_
and _builded_ for _built_. This is all proper enough if the _d_ sound
is given to the ending by pronouncing the word, as is often done, as a
dissylable. But no reason can be pleaded for it if _t_ is heard as the
termination. In this matter we are far behind our fathers.

Take the usage of Spenser, as illustrated on this point in the first
canto of the first book of the _Faerie Queene_. This contains about
five hundred lines. In every case whenever a preterite or past
participle has the sound of _t_, it is spelled with _t_. In this one
canto--and it fairly represents all the others--can be found the
preterites _advaunst_, _approcht_, _chaunst_, _enhaunst_, _forst_,
_glaunst_, _grypt_, _knockt_, _lept_, _lookt_, _nurst_, _pusht_,
_y-rockt_, _stopt_, and _tost_. Along with these are to be seen as
past participles _accurst_, _enforst_, _mixt_, _past_, _promist_,
_stretcht_, _vanquisht_, and _wrapt_. Now, to a certain extent this is
an unfair illustration. No one can read the _Faerie Queene_ without
becoming aware that Spenser was a good deal of a spelling reformer.
Necessarily, he was largely dominated by the ignoble idea that
orthography should have a close connection with the pronunciation.
Still, though in certain particulars he took very advanced ground, he
only practiced on a large scale what on a small scale was followed by
very many of his contemporaries and immediate successors.

We pass on now to the consideration of the six sounds for which the
alphabet has no special sign whatever. Two of them are the surd and
sonant sounds, already considered, for which the digraph _th_ has
become the common representative. It may be right to add that this
same digraph is also equivalent in a few cases to the simple _t_,
as in _thyme_ and _Thames_. The four other sounds can be recognized
perhaps most easily in the _ch_ of _church_, the _ng_ of _bring_, the
_sh_ of _ship_, and the _s_ of _pleasure_. But here, as elsewhere in
our orthography, reigns the usual lawlessness. The signs here given
represent other sounds than those just specified. Take the case of
_ng_. Any one can detect at once the difference in the pronunciation
of this digraph by contrasting it as heard in _singer_ and as heard in
_finger_. Nor has _ch_ been limited to the sound indicated in _chair_,
_cheer_, _child_, _choose_, and _churn_. It has another, perhaps more
frequently denoted by _sh_ in the beginning, middle, and end of words,
as, for illustration, in _chaise_, _machine_, and _bench_. It has
likewise the sound of _k_ in many words, especially in those of Greek
origin, such as _character_, _mechanic_, _monarch_. The uncertainty
caused by this variety of pronunciation is particularly noticeable in
words in which _arch_ appears as the initial syllable. In _archangel_,
for instance, _ch_ has one pronunciation, in _archbishop_ it has
another. The difference between the two must therefore be painfully
learned. There is, furthermore, the sporadic example of _choir_, in
which _ch_ has the sound of _kw_, ordinarily represented by _qu_. But
_choir_ was a late seventeenth-century importation into the language.
Though to some extent it has replaced the original form _quire_, it has
invariably retained the pronunciation of that word.

Finally, there are the two sounds specified above, as denoted by the
_s_ of _pleasure_ and the _sh_ of _ship_. The former has a respectable
number of signs to indicate it. Besides the _s_ found in such words
as _measure_, _usury_, _enclosure_, it is represented by _si_, as
seen in _decision_, _evasion_, _occasion_; by _z_, as in _azure_,
_razure_, _seizure_; by _zi_, as in _glazier_, _grazier_, _vizier_. It
is, however, the second of these sounds that has the greatest variety
of signs to denote it. In this respect it rivals many of the vowels
or vowel combinations, and surpasses some of them. It is heard in
the _ce_ of _ocean_, and in particular in no small number of words
mainly scientific, with the ending _aceous_, such as _cretaceous_
and _cetaceous_; in the _ci_ of words like _social_, _gracious_,
_suspicion_; in the _s_ of _sure_, _sugar_, _censure_, _nauseate_;
in the _t_ of _satiate_, _expatiate_, _substantiate_; in the _ti_ of
_martial_, _patient_, _nation_, and the vast number of words which
have the termination _tion_; in _xi_ in _anxious_, _obnoxious_,
_complexion_; in _sci_ in _conscience_, _prescience_; in _si_, as seen
in no small number of words, such as _mansion_, _vision_, _explosion_.
Finally, to illustrate the confusion which in the case of these signs
has been still further confounded, we may instance the _ci_ of _social_
with the pronunciation just indicated, and the _ci_ of the related word
_society_ with a pronunciation entirely different. A precisely similar
observation could be made of _ti_ in the case of the words _satiate_
and _satiety_.

Enough has certainly now been said to put beyond question the fact
of the irrepressible conflict which goes on in our language between
orthography and orthoepy, and to make clear its nature. The treatment
of the subject has, indeed, been far from complete. Nothing whatever
has been said on the large subject of the representation of sounds
in the unaccented syllables. No account has been given of the usage
of some of the letters or combinations of letters. In particular, in
the matter of doubling the letters both in accented and unaccented
syllables, contradictions and incongruities abound with us on a scale
which ought to bring peculiar happiness to those devotees of the
present orthography who believe that the worse a language is spelled
the more distinctly it is to its credit. Still, of this characteristic
there has been no consideration. Furthermore, page after page could
have been taken up with illustrative examples of the anarchy of all
sorts which reigns in every nook and corner of our spelling. We write,
for instance, _knowledge_ with a _d_; but the place with the same
terminating syllable where we go presumably to acquire it, which we
call a _college_, we are careful to write without a _d_. In the past
one finds at times the forms _knowlege_ and _colledge_. It is nothing
but an accident of usage that we are not employing them now instead of
the ones we have adopted.

It would be easy to go on multiplying examples of these
inconsistencies. But though all that could be said is far from having
been said, surely enough has been given to prove beyond possibility
of denial the existence of the chaotic condition which prevails.
Furthermore, while the subject has been by no means exhausted, the
same statement cannot safely be made of the patience of the reader,
to say nothing of that of the writer. If any one of the former body
finds it tedious to wade through the account of the situation which
has been given in the preceding pages, let him bear in mind how much
more tedious it was for the author to prepare it. If he finds it
exceedingly tedious, let him take to himself a sort of consolation in
the reflection of how easily it could have been made even more so.
Instead, therefore, of complaining of the abundance of minute detail
which I have supplied, he ought to be thankful to me for keeping back
so much of it as I have done. Moreover, as Heine pointed out long ago,
the reader has at his command a resource to which he can always betake
himself when his powers of endurance give out. He can skip. This is a
blessed privilege denied to the writer.

Incomplete, however, as has been the survey of the subject, it has been
sufficient to give a fairly satisfactory idea of the way in which the
orthography represents, or rather misrepresents, the pronunciation. It
makes manifest beyond dispute the truth of the intimation conveyed at
the outset that the form of a particular word is often, with us, little
more than a fortuitous concourse of unrelated letters in which neither
they nor the combinations into which they enter can be relied upon to
indicate any particular sound. In addition, hundreds of those which
appear in the spelling have no office in the pronunciation. Genuine
derivation has led to the retention of some, spurious derivation to
the introduction of others. There are, consequently, few of the common
words of our language which cannot be spelled with perfect propriety
in different ways, sometimes in half a dozen different ways, if the
analogy be followed of words similarly formed and pronounced. Our
orthography is, therefore, often a matter of contention and always a
matter of study. Knowledge of the accepted form of words must be gained
in each case independently, for there exists no general principle, the
observance of which will guide the learner to a correct conclusion.

As an inevitable result, the acquisition of spelling never calls into
exercise, with us, the reasoning faculties. On the contrary, its direct
effect is to keep them in abeyance. The ability to spell properly is
an intellectual act only to the extent that attention and recollection
are intellectual acts. It can and not unfrequently does characterize
persons who are very far from being gifted with much mental power. All
who attain proficiency in it are compelled to spend time which, under
proper conditions, could have been far more profitably employed. There
are men who do not attain it at an early age, and some even who never
attain it at all. Moore, for illustration, speaking of Byron, tells us
that spelling was “a very late accomplishment with him.”[25] The case
of William Morris was far worse. This poet never learned to spell at
all. The fact is recorded by his biographer. In speaking of the beauty
of his handwriting, he had to admit the failure of his orthography to
reach the standard set by it. “The subsidiary art of spelling,” he
writes, “was always one in which he was liable to make curious lapses.
‘I remember,’ the poet once said, ‘being taught to spell and standing
on a chair with my shoes off because I made so many mistakes.’ In
later years several sheets of _The Life and Death of Jason_ had to
be cancelled and reprinted because of a mistake in the spelling of
a perfectly common English word; a word, indeed, so common that the
printer’s reader had left it as it was in the manuscript, thinking that
Morris’ spelling must be an intentional peculiarity.”[26]

The ignorance which exists in regard to the orthographic situation is
bad enough; but the superstition which has been born of it is still
worse. It is assumed to have come down to us pure and perfect from a
remote past. Hence, it must be religiously preserved in all its assumed
sacredness and genuine uncouthness. Even improvements which could be
made with little difficulty, which would have no other result than
bringing about with the least possible friction uniformity in certain
classes of words--these slight alterations are assailed with almost
as much earnestness and virulence as would be encountered by sweeping
changes designed to make the spelling really phonetic.

As men are more apt to be interested in particular illustrations than
in general discussion, it may be worth while to follow up the survey
of the situation which has just been given with an account in detail
of the history of a special class of words. In this once prevailed the
tendency to bring about absolute uniformity. The movement was arrested
before the desired result was attained. It left a few over thirty
examples as exceptions to the general practice. In the derivatives
of some of these it went back to the regular rule and consequently
contributed exceptions to the exceptions. This condition of things has
endeared these anomalies to the hearts of thousands. The class itself
consists of the words ending in _or_ or _our_. About the proper way of
spelling this termination controversy has raged for more than a hundred
years. The examination of the whole class can be best carried on by
selecting one of the words belonging to it as typical of all. To its
story the next chapter will be largely confined.


FOOTNOTES:

[16] _Duchess of Powysland_, chap. x.

[17]

  And add to these retired leisure
  That in trim garden takes his pleasure.

  --_Il Penseroso._


[18] See page 105.

[19] _Memoir of the Life and Writings of the late William Taylor of
Norwich._ London, 1843. Southey to Taylor, July 13, 1803, vol. i, p.
466.

[20] See page 125.

[21] “The church is one huge nef with a double Aisle to it.”--Addison,
_Remarks on Several Parts of Italy, etc._ First edition, 1705, p. 493.

[22] In Professor Arber’s accurate reprint of the original edition, the
word, spelled as _frend_, can be found on pages, 20, 21, 22, 24, 43,
73, 75, 87, 89, 90, 91, 94, 99, 113, 121, 140, 149, 154, and 158. In
some instances the word appears two or more times on the page. On pages
23 (twice) and 113 is found _frendly_, and on page 140 _frendship_.
Nowhere does the _i_ appear in these last two words. The solitary
instance of the spelling _friend_ is on page 112.

[23] _Standard of Pronunciation in English_, pp. 191-202.

[24] _Faerie Queene_, Book II, canto ix, st. 21.

[25] _Moore’s Diary_, vol. v, p. 249.

[26] _The Life of William Morris_, by J. W. Mackail, London, 1899, vol.
i, p. 8.




                              CHAPTER IV

                        THE QUESTION OF _HONOR_


“Well, honor is the subject of my story,” says Cassius to Brutus, in
his effort to persuade his friend to join the conspiracy against the
dictator. It was h-o-n-o-r however that he spoke of, not h-o-n-o-u-r.
So the word appeared in the folio of 1623, in which the play of _Julius
Cæsar_ was published for the first time. Unfortunately, the spelling
of Shakespeare has not escaped the tampering to which that of nearly
all our authors has been subjected by unscrupulous modern editors and
publishers. Take the following speech of Brutus, found shortly before
the line already quoted, as it is printed in the original edition:

  Set Honor in one eye and Death i’ th’ other,
  And I will looke on both indifferently;
  For let the Gods so speed mee, as I loue
  The name of Honor, more then I feare death.

In defiance of the authority of Shakespeare, so far as it is
represented by the folio of 1623, _honor_ in the passages cited above
appears in modern editions as _honour_. This spelling did not make its
appearance in them until comparatively late. In the second folio of
1632 the word was still _honor_. So it remained in the third folio of
1663-64. It was not till the edition of 1685, the last and poorest of
the folios, that the corrupt form _honour_ displaced in these passages
the original form _honor_. There it has since been generally, if not
universally, retained.

It is fair to say that in this method of spelling the word the usage
of Shakespeare was far from invariable. Either one of the two forms
just given seems to have been used by him indifferently, just as they
were by his contemporaries. In his writings _honor_, either as a verb
or noun, occurs very nearly seven hundred times. According to the
sufficient authority of the New Historical English Dictionary, the
spelling _honor_ in the folio of 1623 was “about twice as frequent
as _honour_.” This confirms my own impressions; but these were based
merely upon the examination of only about a hundred passages of the
seven hundred in which the word occurs. Furthermore, Shakespeare’s
practice varied widely in the use of individual words of this class, as
exemplified in the two poems he himself published. _Humor_ appears in
them twice. In both instances it is without the _u_--once in _Venus
and Adonis_,[27] once in _The Rape of Lucrece_.[28] Such also is the
spelling of the word the two times it is found in the _Sonnets_,[29]
but there this fact does not make certain the practice of the poet. On
the other hand, _labor_, either as a noun or verb appears seven times
in the two pieces just mentioned. Six times out of the seven it is
spelled _labour_.[30] _Color_ also appears invariably as _colour_ in
the ten times the word is found in these same poems.

The words with the terminations _or_ or _our_ number now several
hundred in our speech. Many of them go back to that early period when
the French element was first introduced into English. Many others have
been added at various periods since. In the case of those of earlier
introduction both terminations are found. Still, it is the impression
produced upon me by my comparatively little reading that there was
at first a distinct preference for the ending _our_. This, if true,
was due largely, if not mainly, to the fact that it reflected more
accurately the then prevailing pronunciation. The accent fell upon
the end of the word. It was not, as now, thrown back upon the penult
or antepenult, with the result of placing only the slightest of stress
upon the final syllable. However this may be, many words were once
often spelled with the termination _our_, which have now replaced it by
the termination _or_. The ryme-index to Chaucer’s poetry shows that he
uses about forty words with this ending at the close of a line. Some
are obsolete, but most are still in current use. Among these latter
so spelled are _ambassadour_, _confessour_, _emperour_, _governour_,
_mirrour_, _senatour_, _servitour_, _successour_, and _traitour_. These
in modern English have replaced the ending _our_ by _or_. Again other
words with this same terminations which he employs have now substituted
for it _er_. Such are _reportour_, _revelour_, and _riotour_. In truth,
each one of the words belonging to the class has a history of its own.
But _honor_ is in most respects typical of them all. Accordingly, while
there is no purpose to neglect the others, upon it the attention will
be mainly fixed.

It was in the fourteenth century that the wholesale irruption of the
French element into our vocabulary took place. But before the great
invasion in which words came into the speech by battalions, single
words had already entered, as if to prepare the way. One of these
earlier adventurers was the term under consideration. It made its
appearance in the language as early, at least, as the beginning of
the thirteenth century. Unlike most of its class, its first syllable
demands attention as well as its last. As a foreign word, it naturally
exhibited at its original introduction the forms that belonged to it
in the tongue from which it was derived. There was no prejudice in
those days in favor of a fixed orthography. Each author did what was
right in his own eyes; or perhaps it would be more correct to say,
what was right to his own ears. In the Romance tongues the hostility
to the aspirate, which has animated the hearts of so large a share of
the race, had caused it to be dropped in pronunciation. As a result,
writers being then phonetically inclined, discarded it from the
spelling. Hence, _honor_ presented itself in our language without the
initial _h_. Its first recorded appearance is in a work, the manuscript
of which is ascribed to the neighborhood of 1200 A.D. In that it was
written _onur_, just as _hour_ sometimes appeared as _ure_. It hardly
needs to be said that the vowel in these cases does not represent the
now common sound we call “short _u_.”

It is not always easy to discover the motives which influence men in
the choice of spellings. But it is no difficult matter to detect the
reason for the change which here took place. Before the minds of the
writers of this early period was always the Latin original. In that
tongue the word began with _h_. Derivation is always dear to the hearts
of the scholastically inclined. In those days it was only men of this
class who did any writing at all. Hence, both in Old French and in Old
English, it was not long before the letter _h_ came to be prefixed
regularly to the word. It was not sounded. But it was soon adopted
universally in the spelling, and, once established there, it never lost
its hold. In the case of several other words which have had essentially
the same history, the pronunciation of the aspirate has been resumed
under the influence of the printed page. But _honor_ is one of four
which up to this time have held out unflinchingly against any such
tendency.

So much for the initial letter. As regards the termination, the word
made its appearance in several forms. Only three of them need be
mentioned here, for they were the ones much the most common. These
were _honor_, _honour_, _honur_. The last was the first to go. It left
the field to the other two forms, which have flourished side by side
from that day to this. Were I to trust to the impressions produced by
my own reading, I should say that from the middle of the fourteenth
century to the middle of the sixteenth the form in _our_ was much the
more common. But, in the New Historical English Dictionary, Dr. Murray
asserts distinctly that “_honor_ and _honour_ continued to be equally
frequent down to the seventeenth century.” One accordingly must defer
to the authority of a generalization which is based upon a much fuller
array of facts than it is in the power of an individual to get together.

By the time we reach the sixteenth century, and especially the
Elizabethan age, it is pretty plain that something of the orthographic
controversy which has been raging ever since had already begun to make
itself heard. The little we know about it we learn from brief remarks
in books, or chance allusions in plays. The discussion, such as it
was, seems to have had little regard to orthoepy, but was based almost
entirely upon considerations of etymology. It was in the sixteenth
century more particularly that derivation began to work havoc with
the spelling. Sometimes it simplified it; full as frequently, if not
more frequently, it perverted what little phonetic character words had
possessed originally or had been enabled to retain. For the classical
influence was then at its height. Consequently, a disposition was apt
to manifest itself to go back to the Latin form and insert letters
which had been dropped from the spelling because they had been dropped
from the pronunciation.

It seems inevitable that the etymological bias so prevalent in the
sixteenth century should have exerted some influence, and perhaps a
good deal of influence, in causing a preference to be given by many
to the forms in _or_. Old French had been forgotten by the community
generally, and met the eyes of lawyers only. Modern French had not then
so much vogue as Italian. But Latin was familiar to every educated man.
It was accordingly natural that the spelling of the words of the class
under consideration should show a tendency to go back to the forms
employed in that tongue. This inference may seem to be borne out by the
few specific data which have been collected. In the case of Shakespeare
the existence of a concordance to his writings enables us to furnish
certain positive statements with comparative ease. Mention has been
made of the fact that in the folio of 1623 the spelling _honor_ occurs
twice as often as _honour_. Of course, in a work printed so long after
his death, this is no positive evidence as to the dramatist’s own
usage. But whatever preference he felt, it seems right to infer, was
indicated in the two poems published in his lifetime. Of these the
proofs must have passed under his own eye. In _The Rape of Lucrece_,
which came out in 1594, the word occurs just twenty times: in seventeen
instances it is spelled _honor_; in three, _honour_. In _Venus and
Adonis_ it is found but twice. In both instances _honor_ is the
spelling employed.

A generalization, however, based upon isolated facts is always liable
to be misleading. Whatever value attaches to those just given is due
mainly to the eminence of the author. No statement of universal,
or even of common usage can be safely based upon them.[31] The
examination of other books would in all likelihood show divergence in
many instances from the practice here indicated. Furthermore, we must
not forget that English orthography is not due to scholars or men of
letters, but to typesetters. The spellings found in any book of the
Elizabethan period are as likely to be those of the printing-house
as of the author. This, in fact, is not unfrequently true of our own
age. It is likewise clear that these same printing-houses exhibited
a fine impartiality in the use of these terminations. Volume after
volume can be taken up, on different pages of which we can find _honor_
and _honour_, _humor_, and _humour_, _labor_ and _labour_, and so
on through the list. In truth, the book would be an exception where
absolute uniformity prevailed.

An interesting example of this variableness of usage may be observed
in the dozen lines in which Shakespeare dedicated, in 1593, his poem
of _Venus and Adonis_ to the Earl of Southampton. The inscription is
to the “Right Honorable Henrie Wriothesley”; the address itself begins
with “Right Honourable.” Throughout these few lines the phrase “your
honor” occurs just three times. Twice it is spelled _honor_, once
_honour_. Modern editions entirely ignore this variation of usage. In
every instance they insert the _u_ in the word, thus giving, as usual,
to the modern reader an entirely false impression of Shakespeare’s
practice.

In this matter the only incontrovertible fact to be found is that in
the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries both _honor_ and
_honour_ exist side by side. Which form occurs more frequently in
the period could not be told without an exhaustive investigation of
its whole literature. As a result of my own necessarily incomplete
observation, I should say that from the middle of the seventeenth
century there was a growing sentiment in favor of the ending _our_ in
the majority of dissyllabic words. This tendency became distinctly
stronger after the Restoration. On the other hand, the disposition to
use the form in _or_ became increasingly prevalent in words of more
than two syllables. To both these statements there are exceptions,
perhaps numerous exceptions, especially in the case of the latter.
Individual preferences, too counted for a great deal in an age when
the idolatrous devotion to our present orthography had not begun to
manifest itself. But the statements just given may be taken as a near
approach to the truth, if not the precise truth itself.

Assuredly the tendency to use the forms in _our_ increased in the
latter half of the seventeenth century. This was true in particular
of dissyllabic words. In the years which followed the Restoration
it seems to have become dominant. Such a conclusion is apparently
supported by the dictionaries of the time. Let us go back for evidence
to our title-word. The spelling _honour_ is the only one authorized
in the dictionaries of Phillips, Kersey, Coles, Fenning, and Martin,
which appeared during the latter part of the seventeenth century or
the earlier part of the eighteenth. It has already been mentioned that
before the publication of Doctor Johnson’s, the two leading authorities
were Bailey’s and Dyche and Pardon’s. Of the two, the latter was
probably the less widely used. Bailey gave to these now disputed words
the ending in _our_. He did not even recognize the existence of that
in _or_. On the other hand, Dyche, in the case of certain of them,
authorized both forms. He put down, for example, _honor_ and _honour_,
_error_ and _errour_, _humor_ and _humour_. Furthermore, in each of
these instances he gave the preference to the first. Of course, he was
not thorough-going in his practice. He would have been unfaithful to
the national spirit had he been consistent. Accordingly, in other words
of this class, such as _favor_ and _labor_, he recognized only the
spelling in _our_.

But as in every period there are found those who cherish with peculiar
affection whatever is anomalous or incongruous or irrational, and cling
to it through good report and evil report, so there always spring up
a pestilent crowd of men who have an abiding hostility to whatever
displays these characteristics. The attention of certain restless
beings of this sort began to be directed toward this very class of
words. By the middle of the eighteenth century their influence was
making itself felt. A perceptible disposition was manifested to do
away with the irregularities that had come to prevail. It does not
seem to have been based upon any phonetic grounds. It apparently owed
little or nothing to the desire to conform to the Latin original. The
aim seems simply to have been to simplify orthography by reducing
all the words of this class to a uniform termination. At this time
polysyllables belonging to it--the trisyllables being included under
that term--had largely come to drop the _u_. So had a respectable
number of dissyllables. Why not make the rule universal? Why add to the
difficulty inherent in English orthography the further difficulty of
an arbitrary distinction which serves no useful purpose? No particular
reason seemed to exist why _author_ and _error_ should be spelled
without _u_, and _honor_ and _favor_ and _color_ with it. So they
argued. The movement for dropping the vowel made distinct headway;
it actually accomplished a good deal, and might have accomplished
everything had it not met the powerful opposition of Doctor Johnson.
In 1755 came out his dictionary. It did not drive out of circulation
other works of the same kind, but it largely deprived them of authority
with the educated. It practically gained the position of a court of
final appeal.

Johnson knew very little about orthoepy and its relation to
orthography; but on account of the deference paid to him, not only by
his contemporaries, who knew nothing whatever about either, but also by
later lexicographers, especially the two most prominent, Sheridan and
Walker, his work is of very great importance for the influence it has
had upon English spelling. Toward most of what he recommended a sort
of religious respect was soon exhibited by many. This attitude may be
said to have characterized for a long time the English people. He set
himself against the processes of simplification that were going on. He
laid down the dictum that the true orthography must always be regarded
as dependent upon the derivation. It must, therefore, be determined by
its immediate original. He did not conform to his own theory; he could
not conform to it. But men accepted his assertions without paying any
special heed to his practice. In consequence, his authority exerted a
distinct influence toward retaining many spellings which in his time
were tending to go out of use.

Especially was this true of the words of the class under consideration.
At the time Johnson was engaged in the preparation of his dictionary
the forms in _or_ had come to be in a distinct majority. Usage was
variable, it is true, depending as it did on individual likes or
dislikes. But on the whole a preference was beginning to manifest
itself for the termination _or_, at least outside of certain words.
Still, it would have been then possible to bring about uniformity by
the adoption of either ending to the exclusion of the other. From the
orthographical point of view of that period, no serious objection
would have been offered by the large majority of men to that course of
action. But such a proceeding would, in the eyes of many, have been
attended with one fatal defect. It would have made the termination of
all the words of this class uniform, and therefore easy to understand
and to master. This would have brought the result into conflict with
the cherished though unavowed ideal we hold, which is to make the
spelling as difficult of acquisition as possible. In this feeling
Johnson himself unconsciously shared. He had to the full that love of
the illogical and anomalous and unreasonable, with the contributing
fondness for half-measures, which is so characteristic of our race
as contrasted with the French. This attitude was reflected in his
treatment of this particular class of words. He compromised the
controversy between the two endings in the case of about a hundred of
the most common of them by impartially spelling about half with _or_
and the other half with _our_.

Furthermore, in regard to the particular class of words under
discussion, both Johnson’s theory and practice must be taken into
consideration. Between these there was wide divergence, and oftentimes
contradiction. In theory he set himself resolutely against the efforts
of those who were seeking to bring about uniformity. He pointed out
that “_our_ is frequently used in the last syllable of words which
in Latin end in _or_, and are made English as _honour_, _labour_,
_favour_, for _honor_, _labor_, _favor_.” He then set out to give
the reasons for his own choice of the form he had adopted. “Some
late innovators,” he wrote, “have ejected the _u_, not considering
that the last syllable gives the sound neither of _o_ nor _u_, but a
sound between them, if not compounded of both.” The just observation
contained in one part of this sentence is rendered nugatory by the
unfounded assertion at the end and the extraordinary conclusion
drawn. Johnson’s argument really amounts to this: Neither _o_ nor _u_
represents the actual vowel sound heard in the last syllable. In each
case there would be only an approach to it. Therefore, let us not think
of employing either one of the vowels which represent the sound only
imperfectly, but a vowel combination which does not represent it at all.

His cautiously guarded utterance shows that Johnson was vaguely
conscious of the weakness of the position he had taken if not of its
absurdity. Hence, he felt the need of furnishing it additional support.
So he abandoned phonetics and resorted to derivation. He proceeded to
suggest a reason which since his day has played the most important of
parts in all the attempts which have been made to explain the cause
of the retention of _our_ in the spelling of these words. “Besides
that,” he continued, “they are probably derived from the French nouns
in _eur_, as _honeur_ (_sic_), _faveur_.” Johnson had not that courage
of his ignorance which distinguishes the assertions of later men who
employ his argument. He spoke hesitatingly of the derivation as a
probability. As it was erroneous, this course was wise. His followers,
however, from that day to this, have invariably stated it as a fact.
He repeated, nevertheless, his general view in the grammar with
which he prefaced the dictionary. “Some ingenious men,” he remarked,
sarcastically, “have endeavored to deserve well of their country by
writing _honor_ and _labor_ for _honour_ and _labour_.”

Such was Johnson’s attitude in theory; his action was distinctly
different. Like the rest of us, he was governed entirely by sentiment
working independently of knowledge or reason. He preferred the
spelling, as do we all, which he himself was wont to use. He judged
it to be the proper spelling because he was familiar with it. The
utter lack of any intelligent or even intelligible principle he
was actuated by in his choice can be illustrated by two or three
examples. _Anterior_ was spelled by him with the ending _our_;
_posterior_ with the ending _or_. The termination of _interior_ was
_our_; that of _exterior_ was _or_. This is not the reign of law,
but of lawlessness. The only explanation I have been able to devise
of the motives, outside of association, which may have unconsciously
led him to adopt the ending he did in any particular case, was a
possible feeling on his part that when the word denoted the agent it
should have the termination _or_; but _our_ when it denoted state or
condition. This is not a satisfactory reason for making a difference;
but it has a glimmering of sense. Yet while in general this course
is true of Johnson’s practice, it is, unfortunately, not universally
true. _Stupor_ and _torpor_ appeared, for illustration, in his
dictionary without the _u_; while on the other hand with it are found
_ambassadour_, _emperour_, _governour_, and _warriour_.

It is certain that Johnson himself, in the spellings he authorized,
never conformed to the principle of derivation, which he held out to
us as the all-sufficient guide. Several of the words which appear in
his dictionary with the intruding vowel had come to us directly from
the Latin. Accordingly, the form he gave them was in direct defiance
of the principles which he had laid down. Of these _candor_ is so
striking an example that it is worth while to give some account of it
in detail. The word came into our language in the fourteenth century,
but as a pure Latin word. When used in the black-letter period, after
the invention of printing, it appeared in Roman type, to indicate that
it was still a foreigner, just as we now indicate a borrowed term by
italics. In the early seventeenth century it had become naturalized.
Accordingly, it was at first spelled like its original. About the
middle of the seventeenth century _u_ was occasionally inserted. This
way of spelling it increased after the Restoration. Necessarily, such
a usage not only defied but disguised the real original. For a long
time the correct and incorrect forms flourished side by side. It was
Johnson’s adoption of the ending _our_ for the word which fixed this
erroneous spelling upon the English people. Men now tell you with all
the intense earnestness of ignorance that _candor_ should be spelled
with a _u_ because it came from a foreign word which has no direct
connection with it whatever. Yet the very same men who insist upon
retaining a _u_ in _honor_, because, as they fancy, it was derived from
the French _honneur_, cling just as tenaciously to the form _candour_,
and will cling to it after they have learned to know that it was
derived directly from the Latin _candor_.

Not only, indeed, in his preaching, but in his personal practice,
Johnson may be said to have been inconsistent in his inconsistency. Of
this there is a most singular illustration. In the dictionary itself
_author_ was given as here spelled. Not even a hint was conveyed of
the existence of another form. But in the preface to the dictionary
this same word was employed by him just fourteen times. In every
instance it was spelled _authour_. Nor could this have been the
fault of the type-setter. So far was it from exciting remonstrance or
reprehension on his part that the form is not only found in the first
edition of 1755, but also in the fourth edition of 1773, the last which
appeared in his lifetime, and which underwent some slight revision at
his hands. Had Johnson chanced to adopt in the body of the work the
spelling of this word as it appeared in his preface to it, the form
with _u_ would in all probability have continued to maintain itself.
Men would be found at this day to insist that the very safety of the
language depended upon its permanent retention. There would, indeed, be
authors who would fail to recognize themselves as authors unless this
unnecessary _u_ was inserted into the word denoting their profession.

But though the weight of Johnson’s authority was impaired by his
practice, there is no question that his words did more to prevent
the universal adoption of the ending _or_ than any other single
agency. For that purpose they were timely. There had then begun to be
something of an effort to correct certain of the most striking errors
and inconsistencies of English orthography. With this, Hume, for one,
sympathized. That this assumed enemy of the faith should be favorably
inclined to any movement of the sort, and to some extent should
conform to it, was enough of itself to set Doctor Johnson against it.
That author, in the first edition of his History, had followed what
was then sometimes called the new method of spelling. As regards the
particular class of words here under consideration, he used several
such forms as _ardor_, _flavor_, _labor_, _vigor_, and _splendor_. But
Hume had no vital interest in the matter. His reason told him what was
proper and analogical; but he was little disposed to fight convention
on this point. Therefore, he wavered at intervals between spellings
which he recognized as sensible and those which had the approval of
the printing-house and consequently that of the general public. “I had
once an intention of changing the orthography in some particulars,”
he wrote, in 1758, to Strahan, on the occasion of bringing out a new
edition of his History, “but on reflection I find that this new method
of spelling (which is certainly the best and most conformable to
analogy) has been followed in the quarto volume of my philosophical
writings lately published; and, therefore, I think it will be better
for you to continue the spelling as it is.”[32]

In truth, the moment that Doctor Johnson had set the example of
attacking the pestilent disturbers of orthographic peace, a host of
imitators were sure to follow in his footsteps. One of these was
the physician John Armstrong, who dabbled also, to some extent, in
literature. Among other things, he produced one of those ponderous
poems in which the eighteenth century abounded, and with which the
extremely conscientious student of English literature feels himself
under obligation to struggle. He also tried his hand at a volume of
short _Sketches and Essays_, as they were called, which came out
anonymously. Among them was one on the _Modern Art of Spelling_. In
it he attacked with vigor the so-called reformers who were employing
the forms _honor_, _favor_, _labor_. Indeed, he apprised us--what
otherwise we should hardly have known--that there were then misguided
beings who threw out one of the vowels in the termination of words
not belonging strictly to the class we are discussing, and wrote
_neighbor_, _behavior_, and _endeavur_. Armstrong’s little work
appeared in 1757; it might have been written yesterday. It displays
the same misunderstanding and misconception of the whole subject which
characterizes the men of our day, who have the advantage of being
heirs to the accumulated ignorance of the past. In places, too, he was
as amusing as they. Nothing, he told us, did so much to distinguish his
own “as an _unmanly_ age”--the italics are his--“as this very aversion
to the honest vowel _u_.”

Hume’s attitude of indifference is manifested in his comments on this
volume. He evidently considered himself as one of the men aimed at
in its animadversions upon the reformers. In June, 1758, he spoke
about the work in a letter to his publisher, Andrew Millar. “I have
read,” he wrote, “a small pamphlet called _Sketches_, which, from
the style, I take to be Doctor Armstrong’s, though the public voice
gives it to Allan Ramsay. I find the ingenious author, whoever he be,
ridicules the new method of spelling, as he calls it; but that method
of spelling _honor_, instead of _honour_, was Lord Bolingbroke’s,
Doctor Middleton’s, and Mr. Pope’s, besides many other eminent writers.
However, to tell truth, I hate to be in any way particular in a
trifle; and, therefore, if Mr. Strahan has not printed off above ten
or twelve sheets, I should not be displeased if you told him to follow
the usual--that is, his own--way of spelling throughout; we shall
make the other volumes conformable to it: if he be advanced farther,
there is no great matter.”[33] This is by no means a solitary instance
of the way in which authors have submitted their own convictions to
the practices of printing-houses and thereby caused this creation of
type-setters we call English orthography, to be an object of reverent
worship to thousands, who contribute large sums to convert those bowing
down to gods of wood and stone.

Great, however, as was Johnson’s authority, there was not paid to it
at the time unquestioning assent. The glaring inconsistency between
his principles and his practice made many indisposed to accept him as
an infallible guide. Dissent came from two quarters. There were those
who accepted fully his views as to the propriety of following the form
of the assumed immediate original. These not unreasonably looked with
disfavor upon his dereliction in the case of many words. Among the
recalcitrants was his devoted disciple Boswell. In 1768 this author
brought out the journal of his tour in Corsica. In the preface to it he
expressed the feelings of many in his comments upon his master’s course
in this matter. “It may be necessary,” he wrote, “to say something
in defense of my orthography. Of late it has become the fashion to
render our language more neat and trim by leaving out _k_ after _c_,
and _u_ in the last syllable of words which used to end in _our_. The
illustrious Mr. Samuel Johnson, who has alone executed in England what
was the task of whole academies in other countries, has been careful
in his dictionary to preserve the _k_ as a mark of the Saxon original.
He has for the most part, too, been careful to preserve the _u_, but
he has also omitted it in several words. I have retained the _k_,
and have taken upon me to follow a general rule with regard to words
ending in _our_. Wherever a word originally Latin has been transmitted
to us through the medium of the French, I have written it with the
characteristic _u_. An attention to this may appear trivial. But I own
I am one of those who are curious in the formation of language in its
various modes, and therefore wish that the affinity of English with
other tongues may not be forgotten.”

Boswell resembled most of the ardent partisans of the ending _our_ in
the fact that his curiosity in the formation of language had never
been rewarded by any intelligent knowledge of it. The _k_ was, in
his eyes, a mark of the Saxon original. The only comment that it
is necessary to make upon this assertion is that the letter _k_ was
not in the Anglo-Saxon alphabet any more than it was in the Roman,
from which the former was derived. Hence, as has been already pointed
out, monosyllabic words like _back_, _sack_, _sick_, _thick_, in the
earliest form of our speech, ended with _c_; and if we were really
so devoted to derivation as we pretend, we should have to discard
the _k_ from the end of monosyllables, just as we have from the end
of polysyllables. Boswell, however, carried out his views to their
logical conclusion. Johnson might exhibit the weakness of deferring
in particular instances to general custom; not so his follower and
admirer. So we find him running counter to his master’s teachings by
using the spellings _authour_, _doctour_, _rectour_, _taylour_, and
others among the dissyllables; and among the polysyllables there were
the forms _professour_, _spectatour_, _conspiratour_, _preceptour_,
_innovatour_, _legislatour_, and a large number that need not be given
here.

It is evident from Boswell’s protest that the disposition to drop the
_u_ had become so prevalent that there was danger of its prevailing.
The aversion was increasing to the use of this very honest letter, as
Armstrong had called it. Johnson’s authority retarded the progress
of this tendency, but outside of a certain limited number of cases
did not check it effectually. It was not long before the vowel
was pretty regularly dropped in polysyllabic words. In them it
has remained dropped ever since. Few, indeed, are the persons who
can now be found writing _ambassadour_, _emperour_, _governour_,
_oratour_, _possessour_, and no small number of others which the
great lexicographer insisted upon as the proper way. Even some of his
dissyllabic words have gone over to the form in _or_, notably those
which had _rr_ before the suffix, such as _error_, _horror_, and
_terror_.

No idea of the strength of the movement towards uniformity can be
gathered from the dictionaries of the time. These, as a general rule,
followed Johnson even when the rest of the world was going the other
way. Both Sheridan and Walker stuck to the final _k_ long after
nearly everybody else had given it up. The latter, indeed, deplored
the custom of omitting it because it had introduced into the language
the novelty of ending a word with an unusual letter. This, on the
face of it, he said, was a blemish. Still less did the lexicographers
represent the general attitude of the time towards the class of words
here considered, especially the attitude of aristocratic society.
The fortunes of two of these words, in particular, on account of
the frequency of their appearance on cards of invitation, reached
at this period the highest social elevation. These were _honor_ and
_favor_. To spell them with a _u_ became and remained for a long while
a distinctive mark of rusticity and ill-breeding--not, as now, an
evidence of imperfect acquaintance with their history.

On this point we have plenty of unimpeachable testimony. The dictionary
of Walker, the leading lexicographer of his own generation and of
the generation following, came out towards the end of the eighteenth
century. In it he gave utterance to his grief on this very subject. His
remarks occur under the word of which, in defiance of general custom,
he continued to authorize the form _honour_. “This word,” he said, “and
its companion _favour_, the two servile attendants upon cards and notes
of fashion, have so generally dropped the _u_ that to spell these words
with that letter is looked upon as _gauche_ and rustick in the extreme.
In vain did Dr. Johnson enter his protest against the innovation; in
vain did he tell us that the sound of the word required the use of
_u_, as well as its derivation from the Latin through the French: the
sentence seems to have been passed, and we now hardly even find these
words with this vowel but in dictionaries.”

But Walker, though he followed, as in duty bound, his great leader,
was subject to qualms of common sense. These, when they occur, always
make sad work with orthographic prejudices. When he looked at the
matter dispassionately he had to confess that Johnson’s arguments in
behalf of the spellings which he had authorized did not impress him
altogether favorably; in fact, he manifested a sneaking inclination for
the forms without _u_. “Though,” he said, “I am a declared enemy to all
needless innovation, I see no inconvenience in spelling these words in
the fashionable manner: there is no reason for preserving the _u_ in
_honour_ and _favour_ that does not hold good for the preservation of
the same letter in _errour_, _authour_, and a hundred others; and with
respect to the pronunciation of these words without _u_, while we have
so many words where the _o_ sounds _u_, even when the accent is on it,
as _honey_, _money_, etc., we need not be in much pain for the sound of
_u_, in words of this termination, where the final _r_ brings all the
accented vowels to the same level; that is, the short sound of _u_.”

The fashionable method of spelling these words prevailed for a long
time. The behavior of high society in so doing stirred profoundly the
deep-seated conservatism of the middle class. The great founder of
Methodism warned his followers against this vanity. “Avoid,” wrote
Wesley, in 1791, “the fashionable impropriety of leaving out the
_u_ in many words, as _honor_, _vigor_, etc. This is mere childish
affectation.” Remarks of this sort availed nothing--at least, they did
not affect the right persons. The aristocratic world cared little for
the woes of lexicographers or the denunciations of religious leaders.
As is its wont, it went on in its usual heartless way, paying no heed
whatever to the remonstrances directed against its conduct in this
matter.

The practice seems to have continued during the first third, at least,
of the nineteenth century. As late as 1832 Archdeacon Hare denounced it
in the Philological Museum. Hare was, in his way, a spelling-reformer,
and drew upon himself much obloquy for the orthographical peculiarities
he adopted. He furnished us himself with some specimens of the sort of
objections which were raised to his efforts. As might be expected, they
were made up of the same old combination of virulence and ignorance
with which we are all familiar. In the eyes of one, change of spelling
was a piece of impudent presumption. In the eyes of another, it was
a piece of silly affectation. Or, again, it was a mistaking of
singularity for originality, a waste upon trifles of attention which
ought to be reserved for matters of real importance. What surprises us
now is that so much excitement should have been provoked by alterations
so petty; for all of any importance that Hare proposed was spelling
the participial ending _ed_ as _t_ when it had the sound of _t_. Thus,
we find in his writings _reacht_, _vanquisht_, _pickt_, _supprest_,
_rusht_, _publisht_, and no small number of similar forms. These he
defended, as it was easy to do, by the usage of Spenser and Milton and
their contemporaries--even, indeed, from the practice of the comic
dramatists who followed the Restoration period, such as Congreve,
Vanbrugh, and Farquhar. That petty changes of this nature should
have been regarded by educated men as serious innovations shows how
all-extensive had become with them the ignorance of the history of
their own tongue.

Hare’s countrymen ought, indeed, to have been reassured by his other
spellings that there was no danger of immediate ruin to the language
by any innovations he might be supposed to favor. The truth is that he
knew almost as little of the real principles governing orthography and
talked of them nearly as much as did his friend and fellow-reformer,
Walter Savage Landor. But however perverse were his vagaries in
other matters, upon the class of words ending in _or_ or _our_ he
was, unlike Landor, eminently sound. Indeed, he was more than sound.
He reintroduced the _u_ into some words of this class where it had at
one time often appeared but had then become generally discarded. He
trotted out, as was in those days almost inevitable, the old bugaboo
of derivation, as unconscious of its erroneousness, scholar as he was,
as are now the most unscholarly who persist in obtruding it upon a
generation which knows better. “If,” he wrote, “_honour_, _favour_, and
other similar words had come to us directly from the Latin, it might
be better to spell them without a _u_; but since we got them through
the French, so that they brought the _u_ with them when they landed on
our shores, it will be well to leave such affectations as _honor_ and
_favor_ to the great vulgar for their cards of invitation.”

The concluding sentence of this quotation shows conclusively that
with people of high position--“the great vulgar,” as Hare calls
them--fashion at the close of the first third of the last century still
dictated the use of the spellings _honor_ and _favor_. Herein Hare was
opposed to his fellow-reformer Landor. “We differ,” says the latter,
“on the spelling of _honour_, _favour_, etc. You would retain the _u_;
I would eject it for the sake of consistency.”[34] If Landor can be
trusted to have given a faithful picture of contemporary practice, this
method of spelling must have continued for at least a score of years
after the date already given. In 1846 came out the third edition of
his _Imaginary Conversations_. To the dialogue on language which is
represented as having taken place between Doctor Johnson and John Horne
Tooke, he added then a number of passages. Among them was the following:

 _Tooke._ Would there be any impropriety or inconvenience in writing
 _endevor_ and _demeanor_, as we write _tenor_, without the _u_?

 _Johnson._ Then you would imitate cards of invitation, where we find
 _favor_ and _honor_.

 _Tooke._ We find _ancestor_ and _author_ and _editor_ and _inventor_
 in the works of Dr. Johnson, who certainly bears no resemblance to a
 card of invitation. Why can we not place all these words on the same
 bench?

But fashion comes and goes, while the dictionaries are ever present.
As a rule, lexicographers are a timid race of men. They have little
disposition to deviate from the paths marked out by their predecessors.
Even the revision of Dyche’s work, which appeared toward the end of
the eighteenth century, discarded his alternative use of _honor_, to
which it had once given the first place, though at the time itself
this usage had become fashionable. So far as I have observed, the
only eighteenth-century lexicographer after Johnson who fell in with
the current tendency was Ash, whose dictionary first appeared in
1775. He entered separately the two forms of these words, giving, for
illustration, _honor_, _color_, and _labor_ as “the modern and correct
spelling,” and _honour_, _colour_, and _labour_ as “the old and usual
spelling.” But his action availed little against the agreement of the
others; for apparently, with this exception, the dictionaries stood
their ground manfully. Their combined authority had necessarily a good
deal of effect upon the general practice, especially with that numerous
class of men who did not feel themselves familiar enough with the
subject to act independently.

At a still later period international prejudice came in to strengthen
the disposition in England to stand by the letter _u_ in the
comparatively few cases in which it had continued to survive. In
America, Webster had thrown out the vowel in all words of this class.
In so doing he was followed, half apologetically, by Worcester.
Their agreement had the effect of making the practice of dispensing
with the _u_ almost universal in this country. One singular result
of it was that in time the termination in _or_ instead of _our_
came to be considered an American innovation. To this very day the
delusion prevails widely on both sides of the Atlantic that the form
of a word which entered the language more than two centuries before
America was discovered, which has been in more or less use in every
century since its introduction, owed its existence to an American
lexicographer. Naturally this was enough to condemn it in the eyes of
any self-respecting Englishman. The belief just mentioned has been a
very real though unacknowledged reason for retaining in that country
the termination in _our_. Have we not been told again and again in
countless English periodicals--quarterlies, monthlies, weeklies--that
Britons will never, never tolerate any such hideous monstrosity as the
American spelling, _honor_?

But whatever may have been the causes which brought about, or concurred
to bring about, the reaction in this matter which took place in Great
Britain, there is no question whatever as to the fact. The tendency,
once prevalent and steadily increasing, to drop the _u_ from all
the words of this class, as they had been dropped from most, was
effectually arrested. Even the lexicographers who could see no sense in
the maintenance of this inconsistency in the spelling accepted it while
they deplored it. After the passing of Walker, Smart’s remodelling
of his dictionary became, in the middle of the nineteenth century,
the leading orthographic authority in use in England. The reviser
recognized the absurdity of the disagreement which prevailed in the
spelling of this class of words. Still, he saw no way of remedying
it. In describing his method of dealing with them, he remarked that
he might have followed Webster’s course, and adopted throughout the
termination _or_. This clearly struck him as sensible, but he as
clearly felt that it would never do. “Such, however,” he wrote, “is
not the practice of the day, though some years ago there was a great
tendency towards it.” For in the meantime a peculiar regard for these
exceptions to the general rule had sprung up among the orthographically
uneducated, a class to which most educated men belong. These exceptions
were not very numerous. They were all dissyllabic words; for the
retention of the _u_ in the polysyllables was too much for even the
Anglo-Saxon love of the anomalous. Still, for the comparatively few
exceptions which had been saved from the general wreck which had
overtaken the _our_ forms, there had begun to display itself that
peculiar enthusiastic zeal which always prevails when devotion defies
reason. No one assuredly can maintain that the latter quality exists
in an orthography which insists upon inserting a _u_ into _honor_ and
withholding it from _horror_.

A few more than thirty words in common use have partially outlived the
revolution that has brought the vast majority to the termination in
_or_. They constitute, in consequence, a limited body of exceptions
to the general rule. As in every case the spelling of the particular
word must be learned by itself, they together contribute an additional
perplexity to the existing perplexities of English orthography. In
certain cases they are enabled to interpose a further obstacle in the
path of the learner. When he comes to the derivatives of several of
them which are spelled in _our_ he is called upon to master exceptions
to the exceptions. In order to save the language from ruin, he is
assured that he must be careful to insert a _u_ in _clamor_; but when
it comes to _clamorous_, he must be equally careful to leave the _u_
out. The same sort of statement can be made of several other words of
this same class. We can pardon _laborious_ from _labour_. But what
excuse can be offered for writing _humour_ and then _humorous_, _odour_
and then _odorous_, _rancour_ and then _rancorous_, _rigour_ and then
_rigorous_, _valour_ and then _valorous_, _vigour_ and then _vigorous_?
Yet this business of making a still more inextricable muddle out of
the already muddled condition of English spelling is held up to us as
something essential to the purity and perfection of English speech.

It is assumptions of this sort that are irritating. In an orthography
where so much is lawless, there is no need of becoming excited over
some particular one of its numerous vagaries. What is offensive in
the spelling of _honor_ as _honour_ is not the termination itself,
but the reasons paraded for its adoption. A man can cling to the
form with _u_ because he has been taught so to spell it, because by
constant association he has come to prefer it. To this there may be
no objection. But there is distinct objection to his implying, and
sometimes asserting, that in so spelling the word he is upholding
the purity of the speech. This is to give to his perhaps excusable
ignorance the quality of inexcusable impudence. His fancied linguistic
virtue is based upon fallacious assumptions which are themselves based
upon facts that are false.

Even were the facts true, they would not justify what is inferred from
them. The argument for insisting upon the ending _our_, drawn from
derivation, might seem to have been fully disposed of in the account
of the introduction of this word into English, and of the various
forms which it then assumed. But, in spite of the poet, it is error,
not truth, which crushed to earth rises again. Men, presumably of
intelligence, continue still to repeat the assertion that the word
should be spelled _honour_ because it came from the French _honneur_.
The proclaimers of this view seem honestly to think that the lives of
all of us would be irremediably saddened did not the presence of the
_u_ in this particular English word remind us of its assumed French
original; though the absence of the _u_ in no small number of words
with the same termination, and having essentially the same history,
does not seem to cause in any of us etymological depression of spirit.
But even in this instance deference to derivation manifestly does not
go far enough. If we are to write _honour_ because it came from the
French _honneur_, what excuse can be offered for omitting the _e_?
Even more, what excuse can be offered for omitting one of the two
_n’s_? Assuredly there is no sacredness belonging to the vowel which
does not attach also to the consonant. The happiness of the devotee
of derivation would be still further enhanced by spelling the word
_honnour_; in fact, in the sixteenth century this was occasionally done.

The real objection, however, to this particular argument for the
spelling _honour_ is that it has not a particle of truth in it. It is
based entirely upon complete ignorance of the facts. Neither _honor_
nor _honour_ was derived from _honneur_. It is doubtful if that French
form existed when _honor_ came into the English language. However that
may be, such was not the form in Anglo-French from which the English
word descended. In that it was sometimes spelled _honor_. From it
so spelled came our one modern form. In that again it was sometimes
spelled _honour_. From it so spelled came our other modern form. The
English word had, therefore, a history independent of the French.
Its development took place not on the same but on a parallel line.
Under these circumstances there is something peculiarly ridiculous in
the assertion so constantly made, that if the _u_ were dropped from
_honor_, the history of the word would be lost.

There still remains to be noticed an objection--the utmost strength of
the human imagination cannot well term it an argument--which has been
raised against the spelling in _or_ in such words as have succeeded
to a certain extent in retaining the _u_. It is that a change of this
sort is certain in some undefined way to ruin the nobler sentiments
of the soul. It is conceded that the _u_ contributes nothing to the
pronunciation of the word, but it conduces to the edification and
spiritual elevation of him who is particular to insert it. It is
intimated by such as take this view that it is not those who belong
to the cold, proud world who could share in this sentiment or rather
sentimentality. Still less would it weigh with those mechanical
utilitarians who think it enough to be guided in their spelling by
sense and reason. To them no ray of the divine rapture has been
imparted which transports the heart of him who finds his whole nature
expand at the presence of a _u_ in _honor_ and _favor_ and chilled
by its absence. Let no one fancy that this sort of objection is too
ridiculous to be advanced seriously. There has not been a discussion
of spelling reform in modern times in which it has not been brought
forward. In the case of those who have taken part in the latest
controversy, I have already expressed my unwillingness to employ that
severest form of personal attack which consists in citing their own
words. I shall accordingly confine myself here to some remarks of this
sort which were made more than a quarter of a century ago. In 1873 a
controversy was going on in England as to the proper way of spelling
the _or_, _our_ class of words. In the course of it a correspondent
sent to the periodical entitled _Notes and Queries_ a communication
which contained the following exalted sentiments:

“I think that _honour_ has a more noble and _favour_ a more obliging
look than _honor_ and _favor_. _Honor_ seems to me to do just his duty
and nothing more; _favor_ to qualify his kind deed with an air of
coldness. _Odor_, again, may be a fit term for a chemical distillation;
but a whole May garden comes before me in the word _odour_.”

The lover of the classics must always feel a sense of regret that
Cicero and Virgil and Horace were denied by the spelling prevailing in
their tongue the opportunity of enjoying this May garden, so cheaply
secured for this sentimental Englishman by spelling _odor_ with a _u_.
It is always unfortunate when the sense of largeness of soul can only
be developed at the expense of intellect. Fanciful notions like the one
just cited can never be dispelled by argument, as reason plays no part
in bringing them into being. As to association alone they owe their
creation, so to association alone will they owe their destruction.


FOOTNOTES:

[27] Line 850.

[28] Line 1825.

[29] _Sonnets_ 91 and 92.

[30] _Venus and Adonis_, lines 969, 976; _The Rape of Lucrece_, 1099,
1290, 1380, 1506; in line 586 it is _labor_.

[31] In the original edition of _The Rape of Lucrece_, _honor_ is found
in lines 45, 142, 146, 156, 574, 579, 834, 841, 842, 1031, 1032, 1184,
1186, 1190, 1201, 1608, and 1705; _honour_ is found in lines 27, 145,
and 516. In _Venus and Adonis_ the word occurs in lines 558 and 994,
both times as _honor_.

[32] _Letters of David Hume to William Strahan_, Oxford, 1888, p. 27.

[33] Burton’s _Life and Correspondence of David Hume_, Edinburgh, 1846,
vol. ii, p. 43. Burton changed Hume’s spellings to conform to modern
orthography.

[34] _Imaginary Conversations._ Archdeacon Hare and Walter Landor.




                               CHAPTER V

                           METHODS OF RELIEF


He who has taken the pains to master the details given in the chapter
on English sounds and the signs which are intended to represent them,
will have received some conception of the nature of the orthographic
slough in which we are wallowing, and also of the difficulty which
exists of getting out of it. He will recognize that the obstacles which
stand in the way of the reform of English spelling are not merely
greater in number but are harder to overcome than those which beset any
other cultivated tongue of modern Europe. Incomplete as is the survey,
it is a melancholy picture which it presents. To him who has not become
so accustomed to disorder that he has learned to love it for its own
sake, the view is distinctly disheartening. The present orthography
fulfills neither its legitimate office of denoting pronunciation nor
its illegitimate one of disclosing derivation. It is consistent only
in inconsistency. It is not necessary for us to consider here how
this state of things came about. It is enough to know that it exists.
A thorough-going reform of English orthography would therefore be one
of the most gigantic of enterprises, even if men were fully informed
about it and their hearts were set upon it. But a distinct majority of
the educated class, though not educated on this subject, are opposed to
it. Naturally the profounder their ignorance, the more intense is their
hostility. It is no wonder, therefore, that many, in contemplating this
dead-weight of prejudice that must be unloaded, have come to despair of
the language ever being relieved in the slightest of the burden.

Let it be assumed, however, for the sake of the argument, that a
general agreement exists that a reform of some kind is regarded not
merely as desirable, but as practicable. At once arises the question:
What shall be its nature? How far shall it be carried? Two courses
are clearly open. One is to make a thorough-going reform of English
orthography in order to have it accord with a genuine phonetic ideal,
so that when a man sees a word he will know how to pronounce it, and
when he hears a word he will know how to spell it. Then harmony between
orthography and orthoepy will be complete. Now there is certainly
nothing either irrational or of itself offensive in the idea, whatever
opinion we may hold as to the practicability or desirability of its
attainment. Were we starting out to create a brand-new language, it is
not likely that any one would be found wrong-headed or muddle-headed
enough to look upon such an aim as improper or unwise. But conceding
this ideal to be incapable of realization in the present state of
public opinion, there is presented to our consideration the other
course. This is to reduce the existing anomalies in our spelling,
serving no use and displaying no sense, to the lowest possible number;
to discard from words their unneeded and misleading letters; to bring
all the words of the same general class under the operation of phonetic
law, so as to produce uniformity where an unintelligible diversity now
prevails. These are distinct objects. They constitute two separate
movements which may be characterized by a slight difference in the
wording. One is reform _of_ English orthography; the other is reform
_in_ English orthography.

There have been in the past, and are likely to be in the future, many
attempts at solving the perplexing problems involved in the furtherance
of the first of these two movements. Some of them have been logical
and consistent throughout. But one difficulty there is which has
stood in the way of their acceptance. It will for a long time to come
stand in the way. They must necessarily be addressed to generations
which have not even an elementary conception of what the sounds of
the language are, what are their real values, and what is the proper
way of representing these values. As language is now learned full as
much by the eye as by the ear, if not, indeed, more so, the form of
the word as it is spelled, not as it is pronounced, becomes what is
associated in the common mind with the word itself. In modern times
this has begot an unreasoning devotion. Accordingly, as difference in
a hitherto unheard method of pronunciation has always affected men by
the mere sound of it, so does now a new spelling affect them by the
sight of it. It arrests the attention of all. Of some it excites the
resentment; to others it almost causes convulsions of agony. Hence,
those who advocate a pure phonetic spelling--in itself the only
strictly rational method--are holding forth a counsel of perfection
to a body of persons who are so steeped in orthographic iniquity that
they have come to think it the natural condition of the race. This is a
situation which has to be recognized. Therefore, in the present state
of public opinion, largely unintelligent and hostile in proportion
to its lack of intelligence, it seems to me that reform _of_ English
orthography--using the distinction just made--is not practicable. We
must content ourselves with reform _in_ English orthography, imperfect
and unsatisfactory in many particulars as it necessarily must be.
Still, the middling possible is better than the ideally unattainable.

In a certain sense the latter course is, or ought to be, included in
the former. Any reform _in_ English orthography which conflicts with
the ideal of reform _of_ English orthography is not really a reform
at all. It is nothing more than a temporary makeshift which puts an
obstacle in the way of proper future effort. A piecemeal restoration
of anything which is not in full conformity with the just restoration
of the whole will do more than leave something to be desired. It will
introduce much to be deprecated. Any process of simplification in
a language whose spelling is so inherently vicious as ours is sure
to be attended with inconsistencies. In any partial reform there
will always arise exceptions which can never be swept away until
that thorough-going reform is made for which the public mind is not
prepared. These exceptions will be seized upon and triumphantly
paraded by the opponents of change as proof that as the reform proposed
cannot be made perfect at once, it ought not to be begun at all. There
would be truth in the last contention if the alterations recommended
were not, as far as they go, in full conformity with that phonetic
ideal which, though we shall never reach, we ought always to keep in
view. The one essential thing to be insisted upon in the reform _in_
English orthography is that it shall follow the path of reform _of_
English orthography, no matter how far it may lag behind it. There
should be no resort to temporary expedients which result in bringing
out about a mere external uniformity at the cost of sacrificing the
principle that the spelling should represent the sound. Furthermore,
it must not bow down to the false god of derivation when such a course
brings the form of the word into conflict with its pronunciation.

Much, indeed, of the discredit and ill success which have attended
previous efforts in behalf of spelling reform have been due to the
imperfect knowledge and erroneous action of those who have undertaken
them. They saw that there was an evil; they did not see what the nature
of the evil was. Hence, they adopted wrong methods of relief. They did
not propose their half-measures as preparations for something better.
They looked upon them as final in themselves. It need hardly be said
that reform of this particular kind could never be pressed consciously
as reform until after uniformity of spelling had practically been
established. Consequently, changes _in_ orthography, as distinguished
from change _of_ orthography, can hardly be said to go back to an
early period. Nearly all noteworthy attempts of the sort took place in
the latter half of the eighteenth century or the former half of the
nineteenth. Johnson’s method of spelling was felt, especially in the
earlier of these two periods, more than it was later, as a tyranny.
It was still so new that all had not become used to it, and none had
learned to love it with the gushing affection of our time. Many there
were who still remembered the former state of freedom. A few were
found who sought to set up rival thrones of their own. The crotchets,
moreover, in which individual writers indulged have been numberless. In
the vast majority of cases the changes proposed by them have been based
upon no scientific principles. Still less have they been the product of
any thoroughly worked-out theory. Accordingly, they have served little
other purpose than to arrest momentarily the attention of the curious,
and have had absolutely no influence whatever upon the orthography
generally received.

In truth, many of these attempts at reform have been worse than
partial. They have been merely in the direction of a mechanical
uniformity which was not based in the slightest upon the nature of
things. One illustration of this effort to bring about change which was
not improvement can be found in the alterations proposed at the end of
the eighteenth century by Joseph Ritson. To scholars Ritson is well
known as the fiercest of antiquaries, who loved accuracy with the same
passion with which other men love persons, and who hated a mistake,
whether arising from ignorance or inadvertence, as a saint might hate
a deliberate lie. He is equally well known for his devotion to a
vegetable diet, and also for the manifestation, noticeable in others
so addicted, of a bloodthirstiness of disposition in his criticism
which the most savage of carnivorous feeders might have contemplated
with envy. The alterations he proposed and carried out in his
published works tended in certain ways toward formal regularity; but
they also tended to make the divergence between the spelling and the
pronunciation still wider. For instance, the so-called regular verb
in our tongue adds ed to form the preterite. Ritson made the general
rule universal. He appended the termination also to verbs ending in
_e_. Accordingly the past tense, for illustration, of _love_, _oblige_,
and _surprise_ appeared as _loveed_, _obligeed_, and _surpriseed_. As
nobody pronounces the one _e_ which already exists in these preterites,
the insertion of another unnecessary letter could have only the effect
of adding an extra weight to the burden which these unfortunate words
were carrying as it was.

There were other changes proposed by Ritson. None were so bad as this,
but they were all valueless. He himself, however, was too thoroughly
honest a man to pretend that he had arrived at any knowledge of the
principles which underlie the reconstruction of our orthography. He
appears at last to have lost all confidence in his own alterations.
Under his influence his nephew had also been affected with the fever of
reform, and spelled many words in a way different from that commonly
followed. In a letter written in 1795, Ritson informed his kinsman
that he--the latter--was entirely ignorant of the principles both of
orthography and of punctuation, and rather wished to be singular than
studied to be right. “For my part,” he added, “I am as little fitted
for a master as you are for a scholar.”

Such changes as those of Ritson provoked amusement rather than
opposition. The knowledge of them, indeed, hardly came to the ears of
those devoted but never very well-informed idolaters of the existing
orthography who feel that the future of the English language and
literature depends upon its present spelling, and that the preservation
of that spelling in its purity, or, rather, in its impurity, rests
largely upon them. They did not attack Ritson’s views, because they
never heard of them. The changes, again, were too unscientific in their
nature to be worthy of serious consideration by him who had the least
comprehension of the real difficulties under which our orthography
labors. Ritson himself lived long enough not only to doubt the value
of his own efforts, but to see that these efforts had been attended
by positive pecuniary disadvantage to himself. The worship of the
orthographical fetish was then well under way. In a letter to Walter
Scott, written in 1803, Ritson told him that his publishers, the
Longmans, thought that the orthography made use of in his _Life of
King Arthur_ had been unfavorable to its sale. Yet this was a work
addressed to a class of persons who might be presumed to be peculiarly
free from prejudices which affect so powerfully the semi-educated.
Such a fact speaks stronger than volumes of dissertations as to the
opposition which reform of spelling must overcome before it can meet
with any sort of consideration at the hands of many.

But of these partial reforms, it is the one proposed by Webster that
is most familiar to Americans, and perhaps to all English-speaking
readers; for the storm which it raised was violent enough at one time
to be felt in every land where our tongue was employed. Nor, indeed,
has it so completely subsided that occasional mutterings of it are
not even yet heard. The Websterian orthography, it is to be remarked,
is found only in its primitive, unadulterated purity in the edition
of 1828. All the dictionaries bearing other dates than that must be
neglected by him who seeks to penetrate to the very well-head of this
movement; for the author himself, or his revisers for him, bent before
the orthographic gale, and silently struck out in later editions every
method of spelling which the popular palate could not be brought to
endure or inserted everything which it earnestly craved. No more than
those who preceded him did Webster go to work upon correct principles,
even when looked at from the point of view of a partial reform. One
main defect pervading his plan was that it was an effort to alter
the orthography partly according to analogy and partly according to
derivation. He could not well do both, for they often conflicted.
Furthermore, he was often not consistent in the one and very often not
correct in the other.

As far back as 1806 Webster had published an octavo dictionary of
the English language. From that time for the next twenty years his
attention was mainly directed to the compilation of such a work on a
large scale. He soon found it necessary, he tells us, to discard the
etymological investigations of his predecessors as being insufficient
and untrustworthy. This they largely were, without doubt; but by way
of remedying the defect, Webster devoted years to getting up a series
of derivations which were more insufficient and untrustworthy still.
In the process of doing this he made a study of some twenty languages,
and formed a synopsis of the principal words in these, arranged in
classes under their primary elements or letters. The results of this
study were embodied in the dictionary of 1828, and the orthography was
occasionally made to conform to it. Webster took a serene satisfaction
in these new spellings; but it was upon his etymology that he prided
himself. In his view, it furnished a revelation of the hidden mysteries
of language and a solution of the problem of its origin. With his
eyes intently fixed upon the tower of Babel, he probably never felt
so happy as when he fancied that he had come upon the trace of some
English word found in the tongues made use of in the courts of Nimrod
or Chedorlaomer.

It is a hard thing to say of a work which has taken up no small part
of the lifetime of an earnest student that it is of little value;
but there is not the slightest doubt that nearly all of Webster’s
supposed philological discoveries were the merest rubbish. Necessarily,
inferences based upon them in regard to the proper method of spelling
are utterly unworthy of respect. The derivation, indeed, had at last
to follow the fate which had overtaken certain portions of the new
orthography. Its retention was a little too much for later revisers of
the dictionary. These, in the edition of 1864, swept away at one fell
swoop into the limbo of forgettable and forgotten things the fruits of
twenty years of etymological study. Those conclusions, which in the
eyes of the author had given him the key to unlock the hidden secrets
of language, are no longer allowed to appear on the pages of the very
work which perpetuates his name.

The changes of another sort, based upon analogy, which Webster
introduced with the idea of making the spelling of words uniform,
were liable to little positive objection. Some of them, in spite of
violent opposition, have in this country more than held their own.
The consequence is that in the case of a number of words in common
use we have two methods of spelling flourishing side by side. This
is a state of things which, it seems to me, every one who has the
reform of our orthography at heart must contemplate with unqualified
satisfaction. Not that Webster’s proposed changes, even had they been
universally adopted, would have gone to the real root of the evil. Far
from it. At best they merely touch the surface and then only in a few
places. But one effect they have produced. They have in some measure
prevented us, and do still prevent us, from falling to the dead level
of an unreasoning uniformity. By bringing before us two methods of
spelling, they keep open the legitimacy of each. They expose to every
unprejudiced investigator the utter shallowness of the arguments that
are directed against change.

But slight as Webster’s alterations were, they met with the bitterest
hostility at the time of their introduction. The love of little things
is deeply implanted in the human mind. It is, therefore, perhaps
not unnatural that the minor changes in spelling which he proposed
should have met with attack far more violent than that directed
against his tremendous etymological speculations. This culminated on
the publication of Worcester’s Dictionary, which in the matter of
orthography followed a more conservative course. A wordy war arose,
which lasted for years. Combatants from every quarter leaped at once
into the arena. They were easily equipped for the contest, inasmuch as
virulence was the main thing required. Intellect was not essential to
the discussion, and knowledge would have been a death-blow to it. The
war of the dictionaries, as it was called, is therefore of interest to
us at this point of time, not for any principle involved in it, but as
an illustration, pertinent at the present moment, of how earnestly,
and even furiously, men can be got to fight for a cause they do not
understand.

There is no doubt, indeed, that Webster laid himself open to attack.
Perfect consistency is not to be looked for in this world; but the man
who sets out to make a reform _in_ English orthography as contrasted
with a reform _of_ English orthography cannot help being inconsistent.
He will feel obliged to retain objectionable spellings. He will even
feel obliged to authorize some that are inconsistent with his own
principles, for the same reason that Moses tolerated divorce. It is the
hardness of men’s hearts, clinging to ancient abuses and unwilling to
break up old associations, which will force the reformer to accept what
he does not approve. Inadvertence, too, will add failures of its own to
the contradictions involved in the very incompleteness of the scheme
which has been adopted.

Both in respect to analogy and derivation, Webster did not carry out
the principles he avowed. There were whole classes of words which
he hesitated to change; at least, he did not change them. Of these
half-measures, whether due to oversight or to doubt, one illustration
will suffice. No man who seeks to make orthography etymologically
uniform can have failed to notice the difference of spelling in the
case of words derived from the compounds of the Latin _cedo_. Three
end in _eed_, six in _ede_. As the digraph _ee_ has practically the
same sound always, the former termination seems to me preferable. But
laying aside personal opinions in the matter, what sensible reason
can be given for writing _succeed_ with _ceed_ and _secede_ with
_cede_? Here was a glaring anomaly which could hardly have failed to
escape Webster’s attention. If the principle of analogy met with any
consideration, this demanded to be removed, if anything did. But he was
unequal to the occasion. In the edition of 1828 he spelled _exceed_
with _ceed_ and _accede_ with _cede_, which every one does, to be sure,
but which he personally had no business to do. In conformity with his
avowed views, he was bound to make uniform the orthography of all the
words which come from the Latin _cedo_. As he failed to do this, he
subjected himself to the reproach of not having acted in accordance
with his own principles.

The truth is that analogical spelling occupied a very subordinate
position in Webster’s mind. His work is mainly deserving of notice
because, unaided, he chanced in some cases to secure success in spite
of virulent opposition. Its chief value, indeed, lies in the fact that
it has kept alive a feeling of hostility to the existing orthography
of the English tongue; that it has saved many from paying a silly
and slavish deference to the opinions of a not very well-informed
lexicographer of the eighteenth century and his successors; that in the
matter of spelling it has inculcated the belief that there is a test
of reason and scholarship to be applied, and not a mere prescription
based upon ignorance; and that by these means it has given to some a
hope, to others a fear, to all a warning, that however long Philistia
may cling to her idols, they will be broken at last.

It would be a great mistake, however, to assume that the feeling about
the wretched condition of English orthography has been confined to
professional reformers. From almost the very beginning the users of
written speech have been conscious of the burden they were carrying.
It has certainly lain heavily upon the hearts of many thinking men in
the past, and unconsciously, perhaps, on the hearts of all. But this
feeling has never been translated into successful action. In truth,
men believed themselves hopelessly entangled in a network of anomalies
and absurdities which hampered all intelligent proceeding. Out of
it they saw no way of escape. This despairing attitude is plainly
apparent in the comments of the dramatist Ben Jonson on what he terms
our pseudography. In speaking of the digraph _ck_ in certain words, he
remarked that it “were better written without the _c_, if that which we
have received for orthography would yet be contented to be altered.
But that is an emendation rather to be wished than hoped for, after so
long a reign of ill custom amongst us.”

Consent to be altered, the language never did voluntarily. There
is nothing more absolutely false than the assertion sometimes made
that it has been and still is slowly but steadily reforming the
spelling of its own initiative. Of the usage of the past it requires
peculiar ignorance--though of that the supply is unlimited--to
make an assertion of this sort. Everything of the little which has
been accomplished in the way of reform has been gained only after
a bitter contest. Undoubtedly there has been a steady tendency to
give exclusive recognition to one out of several spellings of a
word and thereby produce absolute uniformity. But there has been no
disposition to make the spelling better. Not infrequently the worst
form has been selected. Any one who takes the trouble to compare the
orthography of the seventeenth century with that now prevailing will
have frequent occasion to observe how slight has been the tendency
toward simplification; that when a choice has lain between different
spellings, it is not unusual to have the more unsuitable one preferred;
and that, as a consequence, the divergence between orthography and
orthoepy has increased instead of diminishing.

In truth, in this matter we have often gone back not merely from the
practice of the seventeenth century, but from the more rigid practice
of the eighteenth. In the second half of the latter period Johnson’s
Dictionary settled the standard. The changes which have taken place
since his time have all been haphazard. They have been sometimes
for the better; they have as frequently been for the worse. Take,
for illustration, _catcall_, _downfall_, _downhill_, _bethrall_,
_miscall_, _overfall_, _unroll_, _forestall_. In Johnson’s Dictionary
these appear as _catcal_, _downfal_, _downhil_, _bethral_, _miscal_,
_overfal_, _unrol_, and _forestal_. As might be expected, there was no
consistency in his treatment of the terminations found in these words.
While he spelled _downhil_ with a single _l_, he spelled _uphill_ with
two. While he spelled _install_ with two _l’s_, he spelled _reinstal_
with but one. Contradictory usages of this sort are liable to turn
up anywhere in his work. _Reconcilable_, for instance, appears in
it with an _e_ after the _il_; _irreconcilable_ without this vowel.
Naturally, arbitrariness of spelling of such a sort tended much more to
the complication of orthography than to its simplification. There was
sufficient love of uniformity in our nature to reduce many of these
variations to one form; but as a general rule the form selected has
been the one which carried the largest number of unnecessary letters.
Take, for instance, the word _fulness_, so spelled by Johnson. It
is now often written _fullness_, after the analogy of _illness_ and
_smallness_. But there is no consistency even in this practice. No one,
for illustration, now spells _forgetfulness_ with two _l’s_, though
that method was once not uncommon.

In fact, on no side has any rational principle been at work, or if
it has shown itself, it has never been allowed to carry out fully
the results at which it has arrived. Against the agencies which have
tended to widen the gulf between orthography and orthoepy counteracting
influences, indeed, have at times manifested themselves. Two measures,
in particular, the language has unconsciously taken to lighten the load
under which it has been staggering. One of them is a natural action on
the part of the users of speech; the other, though a growth, partakes
of the nature of an artificial device. Both, however, have exerted an
appreciable influence in making the spelling indicate the sound. The
first to be considered is very limited in its operations. In ancient
days, when pronunciation was changed the spelling was changed in order
to denote it. With the petrifaction of the orthography this in time
became generally impossible. Since, therefore, the spelling could not
be altered to accord with the pronunciation, there sprang up a tendency
to alter the pronunciation to accord with the spelling. Letters once
unsounded came to be heard. Syllables previously crushed out of all
recognition were restored to their full rights. These agencies never
have exerted and never can exert influence on any large scale. Still,
they have been operative in some degree and continue to be active.
Accordingly, when the disposition manifests itself to bring about in
such ways consonance between orthography and orthoepy, it is not worth
while to make now any change in the spelling. A few examples will make
this point perfectly clear.

Any one who compares the pronunciation given in the dictionaries at the
beginning of the nineteenth century with that now sanctioned by similar
authorities, will be struck by a number of instances in which a given
word was once not pronounced in accordance with its spelling, but is
so at the present time. Take, for illustration, _housewife_. A century
and more ago its regularly authorized pronunciation was _huzzif_. This
continues still. Much more commonly, however, each syllable which
enters into the compound is heard exactly as it would be were it used
separately. The older pronunciation has mainly died out in consequence
of men learning the language more through the eye than the ear; though
in this particular case the degradation of the word to _huzzy_ has
probably contributed its aid to produce the result.

_Chart_ will supply us with another illustration. A century ago it
was frequently pronounced _cart_. _Cognizance_ and _recognizance_,
too, have now taken up generally the sound of _g_, though in legal
circles this letter still frequently remains suppressed. Take, again,
the case of some words in which _qu_ had once the sound of _k_ as it
is still heard in _etiquette_ and _coquette_. Walker informs us that
in his day _harlequin_ and _quadrille_ were pronounced _har-le-kin_
and _ka-drill_. In both these instances, under the influence of the
printed word, the _qu_ has generally abandoned the sound of _k_ for the
regular sound which we ordinarily associate with this digraph. The same
thing is going on in the case of _masquerade_. The dictionaries, which
rarely record such changes till they have been fully accomplished, give
us no intimation of this fact. This last observation applies also to
_pretty_, in which _e_ has regularly the sound of short _i_. But the
disposition to give the vowel here its strictly proper sound is showing
itself in the case of this word. If left to run its natural course, it
is likely in time to become predominant.

As a general rule, however, words subject to influences of this sort
are not likely to be those commonly heard in conversation. They belong
to the class which are more usually met in books. There he who sees
them for the first time is disposed to make the pronunciation accord
as near as possible to the spelling. To this rule there are occasional
notable exceptions. I have heard even educated men--at least, men who
were generally so regarded--pronounce the words _English_ and _England_
just as they are spelled--that is, the initial syllable was sounded as
_ĕng_ and not as _ĭng_. No such pronunciation is ever likely to become
common enough to bring itself into notice; but that it should exist at
all is proof of how wide-reaching is the tendency just mentioned.

These words themselves, it may be added, are interesting illustrations
of one of the various agencies which have done so much with us to
bring about divergence between orthography and orthoepy. In our
earlier speech there were two ways of denoting this initial syllable,
corresponding, without doubt, to the two ways in which it was
pronounced. In one case it was spelled _eng_, as it is now, in close
accordance with its derivation. In the other case it was spelled _ing_,
giving us, with the usual orthographic variations, the forms _Ingland_
and _Inglish_. Here a genuine difference in sound conveyed to the ear
was represented to the eye by a difference of orthography. The modern
speech has made one of its usual compromises. It has retained the
spelling of the one form and the pronunciation of the other. A similar
story can be told of _colonel_, which had once as an allied form
_coronel_. It is likewise true of _lieutenant_. In the case of this
word, what is regular in the United States is exceptional in England,
and vice versa. With us the pronunciation of the first syllable is
almost universally in accordance with that of the simple word _lieu_,
which is its original. In England it is not allowed to be contaminated
by any sound which might indicate its derivation. From a by-gone
spelling, _lef_, comes the pronunciation there prevalent. This has
survived the form that created it.

But the most striking illustration of a change, mainly effected by the
agency of the written word, is seen in the past participle _been_.
There is little question--there is, indeed, no question--that at
the beginning of the nineteenth century, and even much later, the
digraph _ee_ in this word had in cultivated speech the sound of short
_i_. It is not meant that the other pronunciation which rymed it with
_seen_ was not sometimes heard; but merely that it was then so limited
in use that orthoepists hardly thought it worth while to recognize
its existence. Walker admitted no pronunciation of _been_ save that
which made it ryme with _sin_. He had heard of the other, but he had
only heard of it. So said Sheridan, his contemporary and rival. So
said Smart, his reviser and successor, writing in the middle of the
nineteenth century.[35] Yet, with no support from the most prominent
lexical authorities, the pronunciation of _been_ to ryme with _seen_
instead of _sin_, steadily gained ground in England during the last
century. There it seems to have become finally the prevalent one. To
it the New Historical English Dictionary, while sanctioning both ways
of pronouncing the word, gives the preference--at least, the apparent
preference.

The growth of this practice has, without question, been largely
and perhaps mainly due to the fact that the digraph _ee_ has been
practically confined to the representation of a single sound. It
has become to us a phonetic symbol, denoting almost invariably the
so-called “long _e_.” Having this sound in nearly every case, there is
unconsciously developed the feeling that it ought to have it always.
For the sake of conforming to it, _been_ has in consequence steadily
tended to abandon its once more common pronunciation. This single
example is of special interest, because of the proof it furnishes of
the unifying tendency that would be exerted over language were phonetic
symbols with fixed values employed to represent one sound and but one
sound. It does more than that. It indicates the only way in which
permanence can be given to pronunciation.

Even now, so marked is the influence of the training of the eye
as compared with that of the ear, that efforts consciously or
unconsciously go on to modify the sound of the word as we have been
accustomed to hear it to the form of it which we are accustomed to see.
It is no unusual thing to hear persons painfully striving to pronounce
the final _n_ of _condemn_, _contemn_, and similar verbs, making
themselves very miserable when they fail, and others very miserable
when they succeed. But, after all, efforts to bring about in this way
accord between form and sound can affect only a very limited class
of words. The gap between orthography and orthoepy is, with us, too
wide and impassable for the latter ever to close up. The most we can
do is in process of time to revive the pronunciation of a few letters
that are now silent, or to substitute a few forms etymologically
correct for the corruptions by which they have been supplanted. When
either of these courses shows signs of immediate or even of ultimate
adoption, it is not worth while to disturb the coming of that result by
present attempts at alteration. But in its best estate the changes of
pronunciation to accord with the spelling cannot, as regards influence,
be compared with the much more ancient device now to be considered.
This consists in appending an unpronounced _e_ to the final syllable to
indicate that the preceding vowel is long. This method early evolved
itself out of the confusion in which our orthography was involved as a
sort of help to denote the pronunciation by the spelling.

There seems to be something peculiarly attractive to our race in the
letter _e_. Especially is this so when it serves no useful purpose.
Adding it at random to syllables, and especially to final syllables,
is supposed to give a peculiar old-time flavor to the spelling. For
this belief there is, to some extent, historic justification. The
letter still remains appended to scores of words in which it has lost
the pronunciation once belonging to it. Again, it has been added to
scores of others apparently to amplify their proportions. We have in
our speech a large number of monosyllables. As a sort of consolation to
their shrunken condition an _e_ has been appended to them, apparently
to make them present a more portly appearance. The fancy we all have
for this vowel not only recalls the wit but suggests the wisdom of
Charles Lamb’s exquisite pun upon Pope’s line that our race is largely
made up of “the mob of gentlemen who write with ease.” The belief, in
truth, seems to prevail that the final _e_ is somehow indicative of
aristocracy. In proper names, particularly, it is felt to impart a
certain distinction to the appellation, lifting it far above the grade
of low associations. It has the crowning merit of uselessness; and in
the eyes of many uselessness seems to be regarded as the distinguishing
mark of any noble class, either of things or persons. Still, I have so
much respect for the rights of property that it seems to me every man
ought to have the privilege of spelling and pronouncing his own name in
any way he pleases.

The prevalence of this letter at the end of words was largely due to
the fact that the vowels _a_, _o_, and _u_ of the original endings
were all weakened to it in the break-up of the language which followed
the Norman conquest. Hence, it became the common ending of the noun.
The further disappearance of the consonant _n_ from the original
termination of the infinitive extended this usage to the verb. The
Anglo-Saxon _tellan_ and _helpan_, for instance, after being weakened
to _tellen_ and _helpen_, became _telle_ and _helpe_. Words not of
native origin fell under the influence of this general tendency and
adopted an _e_ to which they were in nowise entitled. Even Anglo-Saxon
nouns which ended in a consonant--such, for instance, as _hors_ and
_mús_ and _stán_--are now represented by _horse_ and _mouse_ and
_stone_. The truth is, that when the memory of the earlier form of the
word had passed away an _e_ was liable to be appended, on any pretext,
to the end of it. The feeling still continues to affect us all. Our
eyes have become so accustomed to seeing a final _e_ which no one
thinks of pronouncing, that the word is felt by some to have a certain
sort of incompleteness if it be not found there. In no other way can
I account for Lord Macaulay’s spelling the comparatively modern verb
_edit_ as _edite_. This seems to be a distinction peculiar to himself.

How widely prevalent at one period became the use of this final _e_
can be brought out sharply by an examination of a few pages of a
single work. Take, for example, _The Schoolmaster_ of Roger Ascham.
This was published in 1570. In the admirable reprint of it, executed
by Professor Arber, the preface occupies eight pages. In this limited
space we find an _e_ appended to no small number of words from which
it is now dropped. It appears in the nouns _bargaine_, _beginninge_,
_booke_, _daye_, _deale_, _deede_, _eare_, _feare_, _fructe_ (fruit),
_gowne_, _greife_ (_sic_), _hinte_, _kinde_, _learninge_, _logike_,
_minde_, _realme_, _rhetorike_, _silke_, _sonne_, _spirite_, _sworde_,
_stuffe_, _taulke_, _wisdome_, _wonte_, and _worke_; in the verbs
_beare_, _gatte_ (preterite), _looke_, _passe_, _seeme_, _teache_,
_thanke_, _thinke_, _tooke_ (preterite), and _waulke_; in the
adjectives _certaine_, _fewe_, _fitte_, _fonde_, _lewde_ or _leude_,
_lothe_, _meane_, _olde_, _poore_, _shrewde_, and _sweete_; and in
the adverbs _againe_, _agoe_, _cheife_ (_sic_), and _doune_. On the
other hand, this final _e_ is absent from some words where it is now
regularly found. _Come_ and _become_, for example, appear as _cum_ and
_becum_, and _tongue_ as _tong_.

In the chaos which came over the spelling in consequence of the
uncertainty attached to the sound of the vowels, the final _e_ was
seized upon as a sort of help to indicate the pronunciation. Its
office in this respect was announced as early as the end of the
sixteenth century; at least, then it was announced that an unsounded
_e_ at the end of a word indicated that the preceding vowel was long.
This, it hardly need be said, is a crude and unscientific method of
denoting pronunciation. It is a process purely empirical. It is far
removed from the ideal that no letter should exist in a word which is
not sounded. Yet, to some extent, this artificial makeshift has been
and still is a working principle. Were it carried out consistently
it might be regarded as, on the whole, serving a useful purpose. But
here, as well as elsewhere, the trail of the orthographic serpent
is discoverable. Here, as elsewhere, it renders impossible the full
enjoyment of even this slight section of an orthographic paradise.
Here, as elsewhere, manifests itself the besetting sin of our spelling,
that there is no consistency in the application of any principle. Some
of our most common verbs violate the rule (if rule it can be called),
such as _have_, _give_, _love_, _are_, _done_. In these the preceding
vowel is not long but short. There are further large classes of words
ending in _ile_, _ine_, _ite_, _ive_, where this final _e_ would serve
to mislead the inquirer as to the pronunciation had he no other source
of information than the spelling.

Still, in the case of some of these words the operation of this
principle has had, and is doubtless continuing to have, a certain
influence. Take, for instance, the word _hostile_. In the early
nineteenth century, if we can trust the most authoritative
dictionaries, this word was regularly pronounced in England as if
spelled _hos’-tĭl_. So it is to-day in America. But the influence of
the final _e_ has tended to prolong, in the former country, the sound
of the preceding _i_. Consequently, a usual, and probably the usual,
pronunciation there is _hos-tīle_. We can see a similar tendency
manifested in the case of several other adjectives. A disposition to
give many of them the long diphthongal sound of the _i_ is frequently
displayed in the pronunciation of such words as _agile_, _docile_,
_ductile_, _futile_, _infantile_. Save in the case of the last one of
this list, the dictionaries once gave the _ile_ nothing but the sound
of _il_; now they usually authorize both ways.

Were the principle here indicated fully carried out, pronunciations now
condemned as vulgarisms would displace those now considered correct. In
accordance with it, for instance, _engine_, as it is spelled, should
strictly have the _i_ long. One of the devices employed by Dickens
in _Martin Chuzzlewit_ to ridicule what he pretended was the American
speech was to have the characters pronounce _genuine_ as _gen-u-īne_,
_prejudice_ as _prej-u-dīce_, _active_ and _native_ as _ac-tȳve_ and
_na-tīve_. Doubtless he heard such pronunciations from some men. Yet,
in these instances, the speaker was carried along by the same tendency
which in cultivated English has succeeded in turning the pronunciation
_hos-tĭl_ into _hos-tīle_. Were there any binding force in the
application of the rule which imparts to the termination _e_ the power
of lengthening the preceding vowel, no one would have any business to
give to it in the final syllable of the words just specified any other
sound than that of “long _i_.” The pronunciations ridiculed by Dickens
would be the only pronunciations allowable. Accordingly, the way to
make the rule universally effective is to drop this final _e_ when
it does not produce such an effect. If _genuine_ is to be pronounced
_gen-u-ĭn_, so it ought to be spelled.

For a long period, indeed, in the early history of our speech, whenever
pronunciation changed, spelling was changed for the sake of denoting
it properly. If a letter then became silent, it had no rights which
any one felt bound to respect. It was incontinently dropped. No one
needs to be told that this has all been changed in modern times. With
us it has become both the belief and the practice that if a letter has
once got into the spelling of a word, no matter how unlawfully, it has
acquired the right of remaining there forever. In consequence, our
language is encumbered with a lot of alphabetic squatters which have
settled down upon the orthography without any regard to the opposing
claims of either derivation or pronunciation. The mental attitude which
at first tolerated and at last has learned to love these nuisances
sprang up after the invention of printing. The influence of this art
upon the spelling is something that cannot well be overestimated. Any
confusion which might before have existed in it became from this time
worse confounded. Upon the introduction of printing, indeed, English
orthography entered into the realm of chaos and old night, in which it
has ever since been floundering. Then it began to put on the shape it
at present bears, “if shape it may be called which shape has none.”

The evil effects wrought on the orthography by printing, as contrasted
with the previous method of manuscript reproduction, were largely
due to the difference of conditions under which the two arts were
carried on. The early type-setters, indeed, had to encounter the same
difficulties which beset the copyists of manuscripts. There were among
educated men the widest diversities of pronunciation. No established
literary, still less established orthoepic standard, to which all felt
obliged to conform, could possibly grow up during the long civil strife
of the fifteenth century. Disorder and confusion, which in many cases
had their origin as far back as the coming together in one tongue of
two conflicting phonetic systems, continued to prevail to a great
extent. But the copyists of manuscripts, compared with the type-setters
who succeeded them, were men of education. Some degree of cultivation
was essential to a profession which demanded as the first condition
of success the ability to gain a clear conception of an author’s
meaning. In accordance with the practice then universally prevailing,
they would give to the word the spelling which to them represented the
pronunciation. As educated men, this would be done in the majority of
cases with a reasonable degree of accuracy.

Still, that the copyists of manuscripts were a long way from reaching
the highest ideal of excellence we know from incontestable authority.
The corruption of the text caused by their wilfulness or carelessness
was one of the few things that seem to have vexed the genial soul of
the first great singer of our literature. Chaucer in his address to
Adam, the scrivener, complains of the great trouble to which he is put
in revising his works by the latter’s negligence. A fervent prayer is
made that he may have a scalled head if he does not hereafter adhere
to the original writing more closely. Toward the end of _Troilus and
Cryseyde_ there is, as Mr. Ellis remarked, something almost pathetic in
his address to his “litel boke”

  And for ther is so greet dyversitee
  In Englissh and in writynge of our tonge,
  So preye I God, that non myswrite thee,
  Ne the mys-metere for defaut of tonge.

It is not likely that either imprecation or imploration had much
effect upon the scribes of that day, who were probably as perverse a
generation as the scribes of old. But one thing is to be said in their
behalf. The cardinal principle that the proper office of orthography is
to represent orthoepy they never lost sight of, however wofully they
may have failed in carrying it into effect. Had this been consistently
kept in view, the attainment of a reasonably complete correspondence
between spelling and pronunciation, while it might have been long
delayed, would have been sure to follow at last.

All this was checked and finally reversed by the introduction of
printing. Far higher requirements, as has been intimated, were needed
in the work of the copyist than in the mere mechanical labor of the
type-setter. The former had to understand his author to represent
correctly what he said. But there is no such necessity in the case of
the compositor. Whatever intellect he may have, he will not be called
upon to use it to any great extent in his special line of activity. His
duty is done if he faithfully follows copy, and he can perform his work
well in a language of which he does not comprehend a word. His labor
is and must always be mostly mechanical. The very fact that he is not
responsible for results will inevitably have a tendency to make him
careless in details. The blunders in spelling, and in greater matters
still, shown in modern printing-offices where the most scrupulous
care is exerted to attain correctness are familiar to all. These
evils would be immensely increased at a period when no such extensive
precautions against error were taken in any case, and when in some
cases it would seem as if no precautions were taken at all. The effects
of the carelessness and indifference that frequently prevailed would
not be and were not confined to the work in which they were directly
manifested. The orthography of printed matter necessarily reacts upon
the orthography of the men who are familiar with it. These, when they
come to write, will be apt to repeat the errors they have learned from
the books they read. With that peculiar ability in blundering shown
by all careless spellers, they will further contribute numberless
variations of their own. These in turn will be followed more or less
by the type-setter. Thus, new forms will be constantly added to the
prevailing disorder. In this manner a complete circle is formed in
which author and printer corrupt each other, and both together corrupt
the public.

Such was, in great measure, the situation of things in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries. Differences of spelling in the same book
and on the same page were found constantly. But necessarily it was a
situation which could not continue. To a printing-office, uniformity
of orthography, if not absolutely essential, is, to say the least,
highly desirable. Toward uniformity, therefore, the printing-offices
steadily bent their aim, since nobody and nothing else would. The
movement in that direction was powerfully helped forward by the
feeling, which had been steadily gaining strength after the revival of
classical learning, that the office, or at least one great office, of
orthography is to indicate derivation. Belief in this involved in its
very nature the notion of fixedness of spelling. It therefore gave the
sanction of a quasi-scholarship to the demand for an unvarying standard
which came from a mechanic art. Under the pressing needs of the
printing-office, the movement toward uniformity made steady progress
during the seventeenth century and the first half of the eighteenth.
Wide variations continued to be found in works bearing the imprint of
different establishments. We must remember that there were then no
dictionaries that men were disposed to consider authoritative. It was
not until the eighteenth century that these began to exist on any scale
worth mentioning, or that much respect was paid to the spellings they
sanctioned. Each printing-office was largely a law unto itself.

But the desire for uniformity became more insistent as time went on. At
last it succeeded in reaching the end it had in view. But unfortunately
for us, the establishment of the orthography was in no way the work of
scholars, though this was largely a result of their own indolence and
indifference. It came into the hands of men who knew nothing about it
and cared still less. In consequence, it was a haphazard orthography
that was fixed upon us. In the selections made by compositors and
proofreaders from the variations of spelling which then prevailed,
it was the merest accident or the blindest caprice that dictated the
choice of the form to be permanently adopted. Authors themselves seem
rarely to have taken any interest in the matter. The uniformity, or
the approach to uniformity, we have now was accordingly the work of
printers and not of scholars. As might be expected, the result of it
is a mere conventional uniformity. In no sense of the word is it a
scientific one. In effecting it, propriety was disregarded, etymology
was perverted, and every principle of orthoepy defied. Men of culture
blindly followed in the wake of a movement which they had not the power
and probably not the knowledge to direct. Certainly they lacked the
disposition. To the orthography thus manufactured Johnson’s Dictionary,
which came out in 1755, gave authority, gave currency--gave, in fact,
universality. But it could not give consistency nor reason, for in it
they were not to be found.

As a consequence of the wide acceptance of this orthography, the
petrifaction of the written speech which had been steadily going on
for at least two centuries was now practically made complete. So far
as the forms of the words were concerned, it assumed more and more the
character of a dead language. But in the meanwhile the spoken tongue
remained full of vigor and life. As a necessary consequence, it was
constantly undergoing modification. While the spelling stood still,
changes in pronunciation were numerous and rapid. Whether they were
for the better or for the worse is not pertinent to this inquiry. But
the inevitable result was to widen steadily the gulf that had long
before begun to disclose itself as existing between the written and
the spoken word. That result is before us. No particular value having
been attached to any vowel or combination of vowels, there is nothing
to determine the exact value they should have when they appear in a
particular syllable. For the pronunciation we go not necessarily to the
word itself but to somewhere else. Every member of the English race
has to learn two languages, every member of the English race uses two
languages. The one he reads and writes; the other he speaks.


FOOTNOTES:

[35] Walker’s Pronouncing Dictionary, revised by B. H. Smart, 5th
edition, London, 1857, p. xxiii., sec. 119.




                              CHAPTER VI

                     OBJECTIONS, REAL AND REPUTED


Two languages, it has just been said, we have: one we write, and
one we speak. To bring them even remotely into conformity is one of
the hardest problems to solve that was ever put before the users of
any tongue. It is manifest from the survey which was made of the
orthographic situation, that the difficulties which stand in the way
of reforming English spelling are not the difficulties which are
ordinarily paraded. There are arguments against any change whatever.
They do not seem to me strong ones, but they are honestly held.
Furthermore, they are held by men who know too much about the language
to be imposed upon by the cheap objections, which come from the
unknowing or the unthinking. The only one of serious importance is the
existence of that period of uncertainty and confusion which must attend
the transition from the old to the new. This, to be sure, has always
existed to some extent. Once it existed to a great extent. It exists
at the present day. The introductions or appendixes to our larger
dictionaries contain lists of from fifteen hundred to two thousand
words which still continue to be spelled in different ways. But many
of these are not in common use. Hence, the number of them makes little
impression upon the common mind.

But as no reform of any kind ever yet proved an unmixed blessing, so
will not reform of English orthography. Especially will this be true
of it at its introduction. A change of spelling on any large scale
will involve for the time being certain disadvantages. The conflict
between the old that is going out and the new that is coming in cannot
fail to produce more or less of annoyance. These disturbances, indeed,
last only for a time; but to some they are very real while they do
last. Those of us who believe that the permanent benefits accruing
to the users of our tongue from a reform of our orthography outweigh
immensely the temporary inconveniences and annoyances to which they
will be subject, can well afford to bear with the hesitation of those
who like the end in view, but dislike the time and toil that must be
gone through in order to reach it. There must always be taken into
consideration the existence of a class of persons who look upon the
present state of our orthography as an evil, but an evil that cannot be
got rid of without costing more than the benefits received in return.

But such reasons for reluctance to unsettle the existing condition
of things are widely different from the pretentious objections that
are regularly advanced by those who have not studied the subject
sufficiently to understand the real difficulties that lie in the way.
Yet these imaginary obstacles loom up so large in the minds of many
that they must receive a respectable amount of consideration, even if
they are hardly entitled to respectful consideration. It is not for
any value they have in themselves that they are discussed here. It
is because they are constantly urged by men whose opinions on other
subjects are frequently of highest value. The utter hollowness of these
common objections to spelling reform will be shown in the course of
the following pages, as well as the unconscious insincerity of those
advancing them. I say unconscious, because the insincerity has not
been caused by any attempt to ignore the facts or to conceal them.
It is simply that these have never occurred to them. But I further
say insincerity, because the moment the real facts are brought to
their attention, they refuse to apply to particular cases the general
principles upon which they have been loudly insisting. The further
great difficulty in dealing with the honest objector does not consist
merely in showing him that he is wrong in his facts. It is to make
clear that his reasoning is wrong in the few instances in which his
facts are right.


                                   I

The first of these objections is connected with the subject of
derivation. There goes on, we are told, an irrepressible conflict
between etymological spelling and phonetic, or anything approaching
phonetic spelling. If the latter come to occupy the foremost place,
the former, it is asserted, will disappear. Incalculable harm would
thereby be wrought both to the speech and to its speakers. According to
some, life would become a burden to the individual, and the language
would be ruined beyond redemption, if the spelling of a word should
hide from our eyes the source from which it came. The mystic tie that
binds the speech of the past to that of the present would be severed.
This is the special argument which comes not unfrequently from members
of the educated, and sometimes of the scholarly class, though not
from that section of it which deals with English scholarship. In the
course of the preceding pages there has been constant occasion to
give illustrations of its falsity, and far too often of its fraud.
Consequently, to discuss it directly and at length will seem to many
very much like going through the process of slaying the slain. But it
plays so conspicuous a part in all discussions of spelling reform, that
it is perhaps advisable, if not necessary, to consider it with special
fulness of detail.

There is no question, indeed, that this argument based upon etymology
has the strongest hold upon the educated class. It is constantly
brought forward as if it were sufficient of itself to settle the
question. Words, we are told, have a descent of their own. Letters
which are never heard in the spoken speech, and indeed cannot be
pronounced by any conceivable position known to us of our vocal organs,
are not to be dropped from the written speech, because they remind us,
or at least remind some of us, of forms in the languages from which
they originally came. It sends a peculiar thrill of rapture, we are
assured, through the heart of the student to find, for illustration, in
_deign_, _reign_, _feign_, and _impugn_, a letter _g_ which he never
thinks of pronouncing. Silent as it is to the ear, it is, nevertheless,
eloquent with all the tender associations connected with _dignor_,
_fingo_, _regno_, and _impugno_. That persons with little education,
and on the other hand persons with the highest linguistic training,
should not share in these feelings is not at all to the purpose. Such
are not really the ones to be consulted. Between these two classes
lies a vast body of educated men whose wishes in this matter should be
considered paramount.

That this argument in their behalf may not be charged with
misrepresentation, take the following passage from Archbishop Trench,
one of the deservedly favorite linguistic writers of the previous
generation. Furthermore, as about the only English scholar of any
repute who has come to the aid of the opponents of spelling reform,
his words deserve quotation on that very account. He is giving as a
reason for the retention of useless letters that while they are silent
to the ear, they remain eloquent to the eye. “It is urged, indeed,”
wrote Trench, “as an answer to this, that the scholar does not need
these indications to help him to the pedigree of the words with which
he deals, that the ignorant is not helped by them; that the one knows
without, and the other does not know with them; so that, in either
case, they are profitable for nothing. Let it be freely granted that
this, in both these cases, is true; but between these two extremes
there is a multitude of persons, neither accomplished scholars on
the one side, nor yet wholly without the knowledge of all languages
save their own on the other; and I cannot doubt that it is of great
value that these should have all helps enabling them to recognize the
words which they are using, whence they came, to what words in other
languages they are nearly related, and what is their properest and
strictest meaning.”[36]

Now, in the first place, were all this true, the objection would not
be a valid one. The well-being of the many is always to be preferred
to the satisfaction of the few. A language does not exist for the sake
of imparting joyful emotions to the members of a particular group who
are familiar with its sources. When committed to writing it is so
committed for the purpose of conveying clearly to the eye the sounds
heard by the ear. Anything in the form of the printed word which stands
in the way of the speediest arrival at such a result is to that extent
objectionable. But even this so-called advantage of suggesting origins
is distinctly limited. What educated men know of the sources of words
is almost entirely confined to Latin and Greek. Of the earlier forms of
the more common native words and of their meanings the immense majority
of even the most highly cultivated are ignorant. Their ignorance,
however, does not seem to impair their happiness any more than it does
their comprehension.

But the objection, further, is a purely artificial one. The happiness
conferred is a happiness assumed to be confined to the words in
their present form. The example of other tongues shows there is no
justification for this belief. The Italian is a phonetic language.
Does any one believe that an Italian scholar experiences any less
satisfaction in finding the Græco-Latin _philosophia_, converted in
his speech into _filosofia_ than an English one does in seeing it in
the form _philosophy_? Has his language suffered any material injury
in consequence? Were I not myself inconsistent and lazy and several
other disreputable adjectives, I should write _fonetic_ instead of
_phonetic_. This I cheerfully admit. But were not the strictly virtuous
defenders of spelling according to derivation equally lacking in
consistency, and absolutely unfaithful to the high etymological ideals
they hold up for our admiration, they would be writing _phansy_,
at least, instead of _fancy_. In one of the sporadic attacks of
common-sense which have sometimes overtaken the users of our speech,
_f_ has displaced _ph_ in this word, though to prevent the result
from being wholly rational it has substituted _c_ for _s_. The Greek
_phantasia_ has come down to us through _phantasy_, _fantasy_, and has
finally subsided into the present form. To the believer in etymological
spelling _fancy_ ought to be as objectionable as _fonetic_.

In the second place, the hollowness of this pretended regard for
etymology is not only detected, it is emphasized by the fact that
the opposition to change is equally pronounced in the case of words
where the present form is the result of blundering ignorance which
gives an utterly erroneous idea of their origin. Can any antagonist
of simplification be induced by his devotion to derivation to
abandon _comptroller_? This corrupt spelling does more than defy the
pronunciation of the word; it gives an utterly false impression of its
source. _Controller_ is in Anglo-French _contre-rollour_, in law Latin
_contra-rotulator_. These, again, were taken from the Latin _contra_,
‘against,’ and the diminutive _rotulus_, _rotula_, ‘a little wheel,’
which word in the middle ages acquired the meaning of ‘roll.’ The
controller, in consequence, was the one who kept the counter-roll or
register, by which the entries on some other roll were tested. How
naturally the possession of such an office would be apt to give to
him holding it “control” over certain others, in the modern sense of
the word, is apparent on the surface. But in the sixteenth century,
and even earlier, some members of that class, “neither accomplished
scholars on the one side nor yet wholly without the knowledge of all
languages save their own on the other,” got it into their heads that
the first part of the word came from the French _compter_, ‘to count.’
Hence came the unphonetic spelling based upon a blunder of derivation!

Take two other examples, illustrative of this attitude of opposition.
Could any upholder of etymological spelling be induced to drop the _c_
of _scent_, though nobody ever pronounced the intruding letter? Yet,
as it comes from the Latin _sent-ire_, the substitution of _scent_ for
the previous _sent_ destroys in this case for the vast majority of
educated men that delightful reminiscence of the classic tongues which,
we are told, imparts so peculiar a charm to the present orthography.
Mitford, the historian of Greece, was subjected to ceaseless ridicule
and vituperation because he preferred the correct etymological form
_iland_, and refused to adopt the _s_ which had been inserted into the
word under the blundering belief that it was either derived from or was
in some way related to the Latin _insula_ and the French _isle_.

In truth, the argument of derivation is invoked only to retain whatever
orthographic anomalies we chance to have. It is abjured the moment an
effort is made to root out any etymological anomalies which have been
introduced into the speech. The fact is that if spelling according
to derivation were heeded it would result in changes to which those
proposed by any advocate of simplification of spelling would seem
absurdly trivial. This would be particularly noticeable in the case of
words derived from native sources. The opponent of spelling reform who
bases his hostility upon etymological grounds would be aghast were he
asked to conform to his principles in his practice. Out indeed would go
the _h_ of the very word _aghast_ just used. Nothing would induce him
to drop the intruding letter in this case or other letters in scores
of other cases, though their only effect is to hide the origin of the
word. Or take, for illustration of mere uselessness, the _k_ of whole
classes of words of native origin. The letter was as little known to
the Anglo-Saxon alphabet as it was to the Roman. Hence, were spelling
according to derivation strictly enforced, it would have to disappear
from no small number of words where it is not merely superfluous as
regards pronunciation, but gives an entirely erroneous impression of
the form from which it came. It has been remarked that the original
of _back_ was _bæc_, of _quick_ was _cwic_, of _stock_ was _stoc_, of
_sick_ was _seoc_. Imagine the indignant feelings of the assumed ardent
devotee of spelling according to derivation if he were asked to drop
the final letter from these words. Yet from his own point of view it
has no business there at all.

To a certain extent this particular brand of ruin had already overtaken
the language. From the native words no one had ever thought of
discarding the final _k_, because scarcely any one knew of the forms
these originally had. But knowledge of Latin was widespread. Regard for
derivation succeeded, therefore, in banishing it from whole classes
of words taken from that language. The struggle, however, was long.
The authority of Doctor Johnson was in vain invoked for its retention.
One must be familiar with the history of orthography to appreciate
what dissensions sprang up in once happy homes, what prognostics were
indulged in of the ruin that would betide the speech, were men ever
to be induced to spell _musick_ and _historick_ and _prosaick_, and a
host of similar words, without their final _k_. Boswell, who could not
help reproaching Johnson for dropping the vowel _u_ from _authour_,
praised him for standing up for the retention of this final consonant.
He represents him as saying that he spelled _Imlac_ in _Rasselas_ with
a _c_ at the end because by so doing it was less like English, which,
he continued, “should always have the Saxon _k_ added to the _c_.” The
“Saxon k” was the lexicographer’s personal contribution to the original
English alphabet. “I hope,” continued Boswell, “the authority of the
great master of our language will stop this curtailing innovation by
which we see _critic_, _public_, etc., frequently written instead of
_critick_, _publick_, etc.”

The biographer’s hopes were doomed, however, to disappointment. Walker,
the favorite lexicographer of a hundred years ago, bowed to the storm,
while he deplored the havoc it had wrought. “It has been a custom
within these twenty years,” he wrote, “to omit the _k_ at the end of
words when preceded by _c_. This has introduced a novelty into the
language, which is that of ending a word with an unusual letter, and
is not only a blemish on the face of it, but may possibly produce some
irregularity in future formations.” To call it a novelty was stating
the matter too strongly. But to this extent Walker’s assertion was
true, that spelling a word with a final _c_ was only occasional.

Here we have been considering the dropping of a useless final letter
which has no justification for its existence on the ground of
derivation. This naturally leads to the consideration of the case
in which it is proposed to drop a particular one which has such
justification. This is the no longer pronounced guttural with which,
as one example, _through_ ends. One of the queer objections brought
against the spelling _thru_ was that hardly a word existed in our
language that ended in the letter _u_. That seemed to the protester
an all-sufficient reason for never letting any of them have that
termination. If the sound was there to be represented, there seemed
no very cogent reason why the letter fitted to represent it should
not perform its office. In the original speech _u_ terminated some
most common words, as _sunu_, ‘son’; _duru_, ‘door’; and _pu_, ‘thou.’
What crime has this unfortunate vowel committed that it should be
deprived of its ancient privilege of standing at the end of a word?
The objection is interesting because it shows what sort of reasons
intelligent people can be led to believe and to adduce under the honest
impression that these are to be deemed arguments.

Another fallacy connected with this subject of spelling in conformity
with the derivation is suggested by the extract taken from Archbishop
Trench’s work, rather than directly asserted in it. This is that a
knowledge of the origin of words is a desirable if not an essential
requisite to their proper use. Consequently, the spelling of the
English word should be made to conform to the etymology for that
particular reason. This is an assumption that has no warrant in fact.
The existence of great authors in every literature, who had either no
knowledge or had very imperfect knowledge of the sources of the speech
which they wielded at will, is an argument which may be ignored, and
ordinarily is ignored, because it can never be squarely met. It is
not from their originals or from their past meanings that men learn
the value of the terms they employ. Acquaintance with that comes from
experience or observation, or from familiarity with the usage of the
best speakers and writers. Is the meaning of _nausea_ any plainer
after we have learned that it is by origin a Greek word which come
from _naus_, ‘ship,’ and in consequence ought strictly to be limited
to denoting seasickness? One hour’s experience of the sensation will
give the sufferer a keener appreciation and a preciser knowledge of
the signification than a whole year’s study of the derivation. Will
_stirrup_ be employed with greater clearness after one has learned
that in the earliest English it was _stige-râp_, and that accordingly
it meant the ‘rope’ by which one ‘sties’ or mounts the horse? The
information thus gained has an independent value of its own. It may
be of interest as satisfying an intelligent curiosity. It may show
that the first stirrups were probably made of ropes. But it implies
a mistaken and confused perception of what is to be derived from
etymological study, to fancy that as a result of it any one will have
a better knowledge of this particular appendage to a saddle or use
the term denoting it with more precision and expressiveness. It is
only in the exceptional cases, when a word is beginning to wander away
from its primitive or strictly proper sense, that the knowledge of the
derivation imparts accuracy of use. Yet even here this knowledge is of
slight value. The transition of meaning is either a natural development
which ought not to be held in check, or it is a general perversion
which the etymological training of the few is in most cases powerless
to arrest.

One form of this fallacy of derivation is that which connects it with
the history of words. The two are closely allied. They are, indeed,
so closely allied that when one is spoken of, it is the other that is
usually meant. We are often condescendingly assured by the opponent of
spelling reform that its advocates forget that words have a history of
their own. After indulging in this not particularly startling remark he
almost invariably goes on to make clear by illustration that he himself
has no conception of what it means. “Shall we,” asks a writer, after
reciting this well-worn formula--“shall we mask the Roman origin of
_Cirencester_ and _Towcester_ by spelling them Sissiter and Towster,”
as they are pronounced? Now it may not be wise, for various reasons,
to alter the orthography of proper names. But the unwisdom of it will
not be for the reason here given. In this case it is evident from the
words accompanying his protest that what the decryer of change means
to say is that by altering the spelling of the place names, their
history would be obscured. What he actually says, however, is that
their derivation, which is but a single point in their history, would
be hidden from view.

For the leading idea at the bottom of an argument of this sort, if it
has any idea at all, must necessarily be that the particular form
which the word assumed at the first known period of its existence
should be the form religiously preserved for all future time. Now, if
orthography is merely or, even mainly, to represent etymology; if,
further, we are able both to obtain and retain the earliest spelling,
there is method in this madness, even though there be not much sense.
But of the first form we have been able to secure the knowledge with
certainty in only a few instances. Far fewer are the instances in
which we have retained it. Almost invariably it is a form belonging
to some later period that is adopted and set before us as somehow
having attained sanctity. This imputed sanctity works only harm. The
maintenance of one form through all periods not only contributes
nothing to the history of the word, it does all it can to prevent
any knowledge of its history being kept alive. For it is the spoken
word alone that has life. Only by the changes which the written word
undergoes can the record of that life be preserved. If the written
word remains in a fossilized condition, all direct knowledge of the
successive stages through which the spoken word passed, disappears.
The moment a word comes to have a fixed unchangeable exterior form,
no matter what alterations may take place in its interior life, that
is to say, in its pronunciation, that moment its history, independent
of the meaning it conveys, becomes doubtful and obscure. This is
the condition to which English vocables are largely reduced. Their
successive significations can be traced; but knowledge of the important
changes of pronunciation they have undergone becomes difficult, if not
impossible, of attainment.

Two terms designating common diseases may seem to illustrate fairly
well the opposite condition of things here indicated. They are
_quinsy_ and _phthisic_. The one early dropped the forms _squinancy_,
_squinacy_, and _squincy_, which belonged to the immediate Romance
original. To that an _s_ had been prefixed. When that letter ceased
to be pronounced, no one thought of retaining it. So for that reason
it disappeared from the English, just as for the opposite reason it
has been preserved in the corresponding French word _esquinancie_. In
this case a history has been unrolled before us. It is not unlike that
seen in the supplanting of the form _chirurgeon_ by _surgeon_. On the
other hand, take the case of the word _phthisic_, as now ordinarily
written. This form gives us no knowledge of the real history of the
word. From other sources we learn that it was once spelled as it is
now pronounced. The most current of several forms was _tisik_. In
Milton it is found as _tizzic_. Such a spelling makes evident at once
how it was then sounded, just as still do the corresponding _tisico_
in Italian and _tisica_ in Spanish. But in the seventeenth century,
and even as early as the sixteenth, scholars went back to the Greek
original and imposed upon the unfortunate word the combination _phth_,
which by a liberal use of the imagination is supposed to have somehow
the sound of _t_. This has finally come to prevail over the earlier
phonetic spelling. He whose knowledge of the word is confined to its
present form is almost necessarily led to believe that it was taken
directly from its remote source. From all acquaintance with the
various changes it has undergone, and with the pronunciation it has
had at various periods, he is shut out. Archbishop Trench has pointed
out the transition by which _emmet_ has passed into _ant_ through
the intermediate spellings of _emet_ and _amt_, which necessarily
represented changes of sound.[37] By this means a history has been
unrolled before us. But he certainly had no right to felicitate himself
upon the result. If his theories be true, instead of spelling the word
as we pronounce it, which we now do, we ought to adopt in writing the
poetic and dialectic _emmet_ at least, if not the earliest known form.
To employ his own argument, letters silent to the ear would still be
most eloquent to the eye. In this particular case some of us would
be made happy beyond expression by being reminded of the Anglo-Saxon
original _æmete_.

Even using history in the narrow and imperfect sense in which those
who advance this argument constantly employ it, we are no better
off. Nearly every old word in the language has had different forms
at different periods of its existence. Which one of these is to be
selected as the standard? When does this so-called history begin? Take
the word we spell _head_. Shall we so write it because it is the custom
to do so now? Or shall we go back to the Anglo-Saxon original _heâfod?_
Or shall we adopt some one of its three dozen later forms--such, for
instance, as _heved_ or _heed_ or _hed_? This last, which with our
present pronunciation, would be a pure phonetic spelling, was more or
less in use from the thirteenth to the eighteenth century. The reason
for our preference for the existing form has no other basis than the
habit of association to which attention has been so frequently called.
We do not spell the word as _head_ because it gives us a knowledge of
the changes which have taken place in its history, for this it does not
do at all. Nor do we so spell it because it gives us a knowledge of its
derivation, for this it does very little. Nor further do we so spell it
because it represents pronunciation, for this it does still less. We
cling to it for no other reason than that we are used to it. What is
here said of _head_ can be said of thousands of other words.

Even in the case of Cirencester and Towcester, above mentioned, the
same statement holds good. As there intimated, proper names do not
really enter into the discussion of the general question. Being
individual in their nature, they are more or less under the control of
the individuals who own them. These can and do exercise the right of
changing at will their orthography and their pronunciation. But for the
sake of the argument, let us assume that it would be a gross outrage
to spell the names of these towns as _Sissiter_ and _Touster_. Let us
admit that by such a change all knowledge of their Roman origin would
be lost to those who did not care enough about it to make the matter a
subject of special study. It is accordingly a natural and, indeed, a
perfectly legitimate inference, that in the designation of towns the
main office of their orthography is to point out who founded them or
how they chanced to come into being.

If this be so, the principle ought to be carried through consistently.
What, in such a case, should be done with _Exeter_? The ancient name
was _Exanceaster_, which passed through various changes of form, among
which were _Exscester_ and _Excester_. As early, at least, as the reign
of Queen Elizabeth it became usually _Exeter_. If it be the object of
spelling to impart information about the origin of places, ought we not
at any rate to return to the form _Excester_, to remind “a multitude of
persons, neither accomplished scholars on the one side, nor yet wholly
without the knowledge of all languages save their own on the other,”
that the Romans once had a permanent military station on the banks of
the Exe? It is to be feared that no devotion to derivation would lead
the inhabitants of the city to sanction such a change. In truth, the
value of all knowledge of this sort is something assumed, not really
substantiated. The few who need it, or wish it, can easily acquire it
without the necessity of perverting orthography from its legitimate
functions to the business of imparting it. How many of the inhabitants
of Boston in Lincolnshire and of Boston in Massachusetts lead useful,
happy, and honored lives, and go down to their graves in blissful
unconsciousness of the fact that the name of their city has been
shortened from Botolph’s Town! How many of them are aware, indeed, that
such a saint as Botolph ever existed at all?

In truth, all knowledge of the history of words ceases for most of us
the moment these assume a fixed form, independent of the sounds they
purport to represent. That history is found in the pronunciation. It is
recorded and revealed to us only by the variations in spelling which
variations in pronunciation require. In this matter the attitude of
the past and of the present is distinctly at variance. Especially is
this so in the case of unpronounced letters. Our ancestors discarded
such without scruple, whether found in the original or not. We cling
to them. We are not content with merely clinging to them. The more
in the way they are, the more we cherish them. This point is brought
out strikingly in the earlier and the later treatment of two initial
letters which ceased to be sounded. These are _k_ and _h_. The latter
was incontinently dropped in writing when it failed to be heard in the
pronunciation. This, indeed, was done so long ago that knowledge of the
fact that the letter once existed at the beginning of certain words
is now mainly confined to the students of our earlier speech. In the
other case the unpronounced letter is still retained in the spelling.
There is consequently no way for us to determine from the form of the
word when this initial _k_ ceased to be a living force. That knowledge
must be gained with more or less of certainty from an independent
investigation.

It has already been pointed out that there are some two dozen words in
our speech in which an initial _k_ followed by _n_ is silent.[38] If
the researches of Mr. Ellis can be trusted, the dropping of the sound
of this letter from pronunciation in the speech of the educated took
place in the seventeenth century. By that time English orthography
was beginning to be subjected to that process of petrifaction which
consummated its work in the century following. The external form in
existence continued to be preserved with little or no modification,
regardless of whatever changes took place in its internal life.
Naturally these words beginning with an unpronounced _k_ fell
under this influence. Take as an illustration the word _knave_,
corresponding to the German _knabe_, ‘boy,’ and having originally
the same signification. As regards its meaning the English word has
passed through the successive senses of boy, of a boy as servant, of a
servant without regard to age, of a rascally servant, and finally of a
simple rascal with no reference to the time of life or the nature of
employment. There it remains. The idea both of boyhood and of service
has entirely disappeared. That of rascality, not at all implied in the
original, has now become the predominant sense.

In the case of the signification, we have therefore a complete history
unrolled before us. In the case of the form, we have but a partial
history. It was not so at first. In the earlier period the spelling
of the word changed with its pronunciation. The original was _cnafa_.
The substitution of _k_ for _c_ indicated no difference in the sound.
But the weakening of the final _a_ to _e_, the replacing of _f_ by
_v_ denoted the prevalence at the early period of the idea that the
spelling was not designed to defy pronunciation, but to point it out.
Then changes made in it are evidences of the changes that had been
going on in the sound. But when later the _k_ disappeared from the
pronunciation, no attempt was made to indicate the fact by dropping it
also from the spelling. By that time the printing-office had begun to
fasten its fangs upon the language. Consequently, the letter no longer
heard by the ear was carefully retained to console the eye and burden
the memory.

Now, it may not be advisable--at least, for the present--to discard
the unpronounced initial letter in the case of words of this class;
this, too, for reasons entirely independent of the feelings of
association. The revival of the phonetic sense among the men of
the English-speaking race is possible as a result of an extensive
reform of English spelling. In that case the pronunciation of _k_
before _n_ might be resumed in English speech, just as it is still
found in German. The letter, indeed, continues yet to be heard in
English dialects, so that in one sense it has never died out. Highly
improbable, therefore, as is the resumption of the sound, it is at
least possible. This consideration, though it can not form an argument,
may suggest a pretext for not discarding it at present. But to retain
it on the ground of derivation is more than irrational in itself. It is
absolutely inconsistent with the attitude which has been taken and is
now universally approved in the case of words which once were spelled
with an initial _h_.

Had the users of language been always under the sway of the feelings
which have made us keep the _k_, no small number of common words which
now begin with _l_, _n_, or _r_ would have these letters preceded by
the aspirate. So they were at first. This class may be represented
by _ladder_ and _lot_, the originals of which were _hlædder_ and
_hlot_; by _neck_ and _nut_, originally _hnecca_ and _hnut_; by
_ring_ and _roof_, originally _hring_ and _hrôf_. The letter _h_,
having disappeared from the pronunciation, our fathers dropped it
from the spelling. The most ardent devotee of derivation as a guide
to orthography would now be unwilling to restore it. The same men
who would be horrified at the idea of dropping _k_ from _knoll_
and _knife_, because that letter or its equivalent is found in the
original, would be equally horrified at the thought of restoring _h_ to
_loud_ and _nap_ and _raven_, though in all of them it once flourished.
It is simply another illustration of the same old sham of invoking
derivation to resist any change in the spelling to which we are
accustomed, and of disregarding it, and even defying it, when we are
asked to carry out our professed principles by altering the spelling so
as to bring it into accordance with them.


                                  II

There is still another objection to be considered. We are given to
understand that difference of spelling is quite essential to the
recognition of the meaning of words pronounced alike. Otherwise
there would be danger of misapprehension. This is a point upon which
Archbishop Trench insisted strongly. He discovered that great confusion
would be caused by writing alike words which have the same sound when
heard, but are distinguished to the sight. Such, for illustration,
are _son_ and _sun_, _rain_ and _reign_ and _rein_. This is one of
those difficulties which are very formidable on paper, but nowhere
else. It is what comes to men of learning from looking at language
wholly from the side of the eye and not at all from that of the ear.
In the controversy that went on in this country in consequence of
the President’s order, I noticed that in a certain communication
an old friend of mine specified me personally as one setting out
to destroy what he called sound English by arranging letters in a
totally different way, and thereby seeking to reconstruct the language
to its destruction. Naturally, he was indignant at the nefarious
attempt, though had he stopped to consider the disproportion between
the pettiness of the puny agent and the massiveness of the mighty
fabric, there would have appeared little reason for much excitement.
Personally, so far from feeling resentment at his words, I read them
with even more amazement than sorrow. The argument he used is of the
sort which I expect to find communicated to the press by that noble
army of the ill-informed who are always rushing to the rescue of the
English language from the reckless practices of those who do not use
it with their assumed accuracy or spell it according to their ideas of
propriety. But here the objection came from a real scholar.

His words were, therefore, a convincing argument for the necessity of
reform. They revealed in a striking way the bewildering effect our
orthography exercises over the reasoning powers. He wanted to know what
the phonetists--they deserve that name, he told us--are going to do
with words alike in sound but different in sense. He began with _ale_
and _ail_. It might have been inferred from his argument that, unless
_ail_ and _ale_ were spelled differently, no person could ever be quite
certain whether he were suffering from the one or partaking of the
other. Another of his instances was _bear_ and _bare_. Does anybody, on
hearing either of these words, hesitate about its meaning? Why should
he, then, when he sees it, even if both were spelled the same way? Or
again, take the noun _bear_ by itself. If any one comes across it, does
he suffer much perplexity in ascertaining whether it is the bear of
the wilderness or the bear of Wall Street that is meant?

This last example, indeed, exposes of itself the utter futility of
this argument. There is an indefinite number of words in the language
which have precisely the same form as nouns or verbs. The fact that
they belong to different parts of speech never creates the slightest
confusion. Furthermore, there are but few common words in the language
which are not used in different senses, often in many different
senses, sometimes in widely different senses. Does that fact cause
any perceptible perplexity in the comprehension of their meaning? Do
reporters, who must arrive at the sense through the medium of the
ear, experience any difficulty in ascertaining what the speaker is
trying to say? Does any one in any relation of life whatever? When a
man is returning from a voyage across the Atlantic, is he bothered by
the different significations of the same term when he is trying to
ascertain whether it is his duty to pay a duty? When one meets the word
_piece_, does he suffer from much embarrassment in determining whether
it means a part of something, or a fire-arm, or a chessman, or a coin,
or a portion of bread, or an article of baggage, or a painting, or a
play, or a musical or literary composition? Does any one experience
trouble, on hearing a sentence containing the word _thick_, in
determining whether it is an adjective or a noun, or whether it denotes
‘dense,’ or ‘turbid,’ or ‘abundant,’ or a measure of dimension? Given
the connection in which it is employed, does any one mistake _rain_
for _reign_ or _rein_? The negative answer which must be made to
such questions as these disposes at once of a difficulty that has no
existence outside of the imagination.

In fact, language presents not merely many examples of words with the
same spelling which have different meanings, but sometimes of those
that have exactly opposite meanings. Yet that condition of things
produces no confusion. Does any one hesitate about what course to
pursue when told, on the one hand, to “stand fast” or on the other to
“run fast?” Does he ever in actual life confound the word _cleave_,
when it means to adhere with the _cleave_ which means to destroy
adherence by splitting? When you dress a fowl, you take something off
it or out of it; when you dress a man, you put something on him. Or
take an example which may fairly be considered as presenting a certain
obscurity at the first glance. In his ode on the morning of Christ’s
Nativity, Milton tells us that “Kings sate still with awful eye.” Here
_awful_ does not have the sense, most common with us, of ‘inspiring
awe,’ but the strictly etymological one of ‘full of awe.’ Yet no
one proposes to indicate by difference of spelling a difference of
signification, the ascertainment of which depends not on the sight but
on the brain. In truth, if no trouble is experienced in determining the
meaning of words sounded alike in the hurry of conversation, when the
hearer has but a moment to compare the connection and comprehend the
thought, it is certainly borrowing a great deal of unnecessary anxiety
to fancy that embarrassment could be caused in reading, where there is
ample opportunity to stop and consider the context and reflect upon the
sense which the passage must have. The actual existence of any such
difficulty would imply an innate incapability of comprehension which,
were it even justified by the individual consciousness of the asserter,
it would be manifestly unfair to attribute to the whole race.

It needs but a moment’s consideration to perceive the worthlessness
of this argument. Yet let us put ourselves in the place of those who
advance it, and treat it as if it had some weight. Let us assume that
if words having the same pronunciation are spelled alike, a confused
apprehension would be produced in the reader’s mind. But are these
believers in man’s impenetrable stupidity willing to carry out the
doctrine they profess to its logical conclusion? For the sake of
preventing this assumed confused state of mind, are they willing to
change the spelling of words which have precisely the same form but
a pronunciation distinctly different? It will be found that the very
men who clamor for the retention of different spellings for words
pronounced alike are just as insistent upon the retention of words
with similar spellings which are pronounced unlike. Of these there is
a very respectable number in our tongue. Especially is this true of
verbs and substantives which have precisely the same form on paper, but
a different pronunciation. We _lead_, for example, an expedition to
discover a _lead_ mine. A _tarry_ rope may cause us to _tarry_. This
inconsistency of attitude is necessarily more marked in words belonging
to the same part of speech. In consequence, a burden is imposed upon
the learner of mastering a distinction which, in a language sensibly
spelled, would be ashamed to put in a plea for its existence. _Slough_,
‘a miry place,’ has as little resemblance in sound as in meaning to
_slough_, ‘the cast-off skin of a serpent.’ We indicate the _tear_
in our eyes and the _tear_ in our clothes by words which have little
likeness of sound, but have the same spelling in the written speech.
We could go on enumerating examples of this sort; but to what end? It
is maintained, according to the theory enunciated in the case of _ail_
and _ale_, that a distinction of form in these and similar words ought
to be insisted upon so that the reader may discover without effort
which one is meant. But the application of this very argument would
be at once scouted were an attempt made to extend the principle to
words spelled alike but pronounced differently. This is but another
of the numberless inconsistencies in which the opponents of reform
find themselves plunged when they attempt to stand up for the existing
orthography on the ground of reason.


                                  III

So much for an objection which, if not serious in itself, has to many
a serious look. There has been another brought forward which is so
baseless, not to call it comic, that nothing but the sincerity of those
adducing it would justify its consideration at all. It is to the effect
that, were there any thorough reform of the spelling, all existing
books would be rendered valueless. Owners of great libraries, built
up at the cost of no end of time and toil and money, would see their
great collections brought to nought. The rich and varied literature of
the past could no longer be easily read; it would have to wait for the
slow work of presses to transmit it to the new generation in its modern
form. Such is the horrible prospect which has been held before our
eyes. The view would be absurd enough if directed against thoroughgoing
phonetic reform. But as against the comparatively petty changes
which are proposed and which alone stand now any chance of adoption,
language is hardly vituperative enough to describe its fatuousness.
But as in the discussion of this question we have to deal largely with
orthographic babes, it is desirable to pay it some slight attention.

For the purpose of quieting the fears which have been expressed, it
is necessary to observe that change of anything established, even
when generally recognized as for the better, is not accomplished
easily. Therefore, it is not accomplished quickly. It never partakes
of the nature of a cataclysm. For its reception and establishment
it requires regular effort, not impulsive effort; it requires labor
prolonged as well as patient. It took, for instance, many scores of
years to establish the metric system wherever it now prevails, with
all the power of governments behind it. When the change made depends
upon the voluntary action of individuals it must inevitably be far
slower. Any reform of spelling in English speech which is ever proposed
must stretch over a long period of years before it is universally
adopted. There will consequently be ample time for both publishers and
book-owners to set their houses in order before the actual arrival of
the impending calamity.

This is on the supposition that it can be deemed a calamity to either.
There is actually about it nothing of that nature. The process deplored
is a process which is going on every day before our eyes. There is not
an author of repute in our literature of whose works new editions are
not constantly appearing in order to satisfy a demand which the stock
on hand does not supply. Few, comparatively, are the instances in which
a classic English writer is read in editions which came out during his
lifetime. This is true even of those who flourished as late as the
middle of the last century. How many are the people who read Thackeray,
Dickens, and Macaulay in books which appeared before the death of these
authors? If there is any demand for their works, these are constantly
reprinted and republished. But the appearance of the new book does not
lower the value of the old, if it be really valuable. If it be not, if
the edition supplanted is of an inferior character or has been merely a
trade speculation, it has already served its purpose when it has paid
for itself. Under any conditions it can be trusted to meet the fate it
deserves.

So much for the point of view of booksellers and book-owners. As
regards book-readers, the fear is just as fatuous. Few, again, are the
men who read works of any long repute--naturally the most valuable
works of all--in the spelling which the author used who wrote them
and in which the publisher first produced them. It is not because the
difference in this respect between the present and the past breeds
dislike. On this point the book-market furnishes incontrovertible
testimony. Valuable works which are printed in an orthography different
from that now prevailing do not decrease in price at all. On the
contrary, they steadily rise. This is a fact which the impecunious
student, in search of early editions, learned long ago, not to his
heart’s content, but to its discontent. The increase in value renders
them difficult for him to procure. Does the difference of spelling
render them difficult to decipher? A single example will suffice to
settle that point. At the present moment there lies before me the first
edition of the greatest English satire to which the strife of political
parties has given birth--the _Absalom and Achitophel_ of John Dryden.
It was published in November, 1681. To purchase it now would, under
ordinary circumstances, take far more money than it would to buy the
best and completest edition of the whole of Dryden’s poems. It consists
of ten hundred and twenty lines of rhymed heroic verse. The number
of different words it contains may be guessed at from that fact; it
has never, to my knowledge, been determined. But the words which are
spelled differently in it from what they are now are just about two
hundred.

This first edition itself presents certain characteristics of spelling
so alien to our present orthography that it suggests that those now
desiring change in it need not necessarily be put to death as having
plotted treason against the language. In truth, the examination of
this one poem, as it originally appeared, would destroy numerous
beliefs which ignorance has created and tradition handed down and
superstition has come to sanctify. A few of the facts found in it
may be worth recounting for the benefit of those who fancy that
forms now prevailing have descended to us from a remote past. Among
the two hundred variations from the now prevalent usage are the past
participles _allowd_, _bard_, _confind_, _coold_, _enclind_, _faild_,
_shund_, _unquestiond_, and _banisht_, _byast_, _impoverisht_,
_laught_, _opprest_, _pact_, _puft_, _snatcht_. We have also _red_
as a preterite and _sed_ as a participle. Further, not only is
_could_ most frequently spelled _coud_, which is etymologically
right, but there also appears _shoud_, which is phonetically nearer
right but is etymologically wrong. _Woud_, indeed, is distinctly
preferred to _would_, the former being found ten times, the latter
but once. _Monarch_ occurs as _monark_, _mould_ as _mold_, _whole_
and _wholesome_ as _hole_ and _holsom_. _Scepter_ is also the form
found, and not _sceptre_. In the case of several words there are still
not unfrequent those variant spellings which were common before the
printing-house had established our present uniformity, or, rather,
approach to uniformity. There is variation in the _or_, _our_ forms
with, on the whole, a distinct preference for the latter, as might have
been expected when the influence of the French language and literature
was predominant. _Labor_, for instance, as a noun or verb, occurs full
two dozen times. In every instance it is spelled _labour_. So also in
the same way are found _authour_, _emperour_, _inventour_, _oratour_,
_superiour_, _successour_, _tutour_, and _warriour_. Not the slightest
hint of these and such like facts can be gathered from editions now
current. This single illustration brings out strongly the practice of
the modern publisher in printing the writings of the great authors of
the past, not in the orthography they themselves employed but in that
which recent custom has chosen to set up in its place. Still, with
all these differences just mentioned, and others not specified, the
most unintelligent opponent of spelling reform would experience no
difficulty whatever in reading the poem.


                                  IV

Another objection remains to be considered. It is not really directed
against any proposals made by any organized bodies which have taken up
the consideration of the subject. These, to use the distinction already
specified, devote themselves to reform _in_ English orthography and not
to reform _of_ it. This latter is the object aimed at by individuals
and not by societies. Consequently, this objection does not strictly
concern the plans for simplification now before the public. It is
really directed against the far wider-reaching reform which would aim
to render the spelling phonetic. It is regarded by some as so crushing
that I have deferred its consideration to the last. It may be summed up
in a few words. Variations of sound are almost numberless. They cause
a marked difference of pronunciation among individuals, a more marked
difference between different parts of the same country. Furthermore,
they are often so delicate as almost to defy representation. You
could not denote them if you would; and if you could, you would be
encumbered, rather than aided, by the multiplicity of signs. It is
impossible, therefore, to have our tongue spelled phonetically,
because it is pronounced differently by different persons equally well
educated. Whose pronunciation will you adopt? That is the point which
has first to be determined. It is safe to say that it is one which can
never be determined satisfactorily. That fact is of itself decisive of
the matter in dispute.

This view of the question at issue is triumphantly put forward as
one which can never be successfully met. Assuming for the sake of
the argument that it is a genuine objection, let us look at what it
involves. The very result of the lawlessness of our present orthography
is given as the reason why no attempt should be made to bring it under
the reign of law. It is a real maxim in morals, and a theoretical one
in jurisprudence, that an offender has no right to take advantage
of his own wrong. This is the very course, however, which opponents
of change recommend for adoption. Our orthography has rendered the
orthoepy varying and doubtful. No one can tell from the spelling of a
word how it ought to be pronounced. The result is that it is pronounced
differently by different men. Accordingly, there should be no attempt
to reduce the orthography to order, because the uncertainty which has
been fastened upon it by the pronunciation has rendered it impossible
to ascertain what it really ought to be.

But it never seems to occur to those who advance this argument that
difficulties of the sort here indicated are not experienced in
languages which for all practical purposes are phonetically spelled,
such as Italian and Spanish. Even German can be included, because its
variations from the normal standard do not extend to the great source
of our woes, the arbitrary and different sounds given to the vowels
and combinations of vowels. But take, for example, the first mentioned
of these tongues. Its pronunciation differs in different parts of the
country. In some cases the variation is very distinctly marked. Yet,
while the spelling remains the same, no embarrassment follows of the
kind indicated. If this simple fact had been taken into consideration,
it would at once have disclosed the nature of the imaginary strength
and actual weakness of this supposedly crushing argument.

For of all the hallucinations that disturb the mental vision of the
advocates of the existing orthography, this is perhaps the most dismal
as it is the most unreal. No phonetically spelled tongue ever has or
ever would set out to record the varying shades of the pronunciation
of any country, still less the varying shades of the pronunciation
of individuals. A system which indicates the delicate distinction of
sounds characterizing the speech of different regions resembles the
chemist’s scales, which detect the variation in weight of filaments
of hair to all appearance precisely alike. Instrumentalities of
this nature phoneticians may need and use in order to represent the
slightest diversities of pronunciation. They can and do get up for
their own guidance characters conveying differences even of intonation.
But these the ordinary speaker does not require at all. Instead
of benefiting him, they would be in his way. For the average man,
even of highest cultivation, it is no more important that shades
of pronunciation should be denoted in his alphabet than it would be
important for him to lug about in all temperatures and in all climates
an astronomical clock with a compensation pendulum. What any working
phonetic system would set out to do is to give those broad and easily
recognizable characteristics of educated utterance which are sufficient
to indicate to the hearer what the speaker is aiming to say. It would
represent a norm sufficiently narrow of limit to make understood
what is said, and sufficiently broad to offer within justifiable
bounds ample opportunity for the play of individual or territorial
peculiarities. Its principal effect would be to set up a standard which
would be ever before the eyes of men.

In truth, the comparison just made is sufficient of itself to lay
this ghastly specter of an argument which haunts so persistently
the imagination of many opponents of phonetic spelling. It is with
our pronunciation as with our timepieces. None of our watches run
precisely alike. Few if any can be called unqualifiedly correct. For
all that, with the aid of these imperfect and never precisely agreeing
instruments, we manage to transact with little friction and delay the
daily business of a life in which we have constantly to wait upon one
another’s movements. So, in the matter of sounds, a phonetic alphabet
would denote only those clearly recognizable distinctions which are
apparent to the ear of ordinary men. Orthography based upon such an
alphabet would assume as the very foundation upon which to build itself
the existence of a recognized standard orthoepy. It is that alone
which the spelling would represent. Provincial speakers in consequence
would have always before their eyes in the form of the word its exact
and proper pronunciation. By it they would be able to compare and if
necessary to correct their own.

But we may be told that while a standard time actually exists, a
standard pronunciation does not. Consequently, no phonetic spelling
can be established which will be regarded by any large portion of the
general public as satisfactory. The all-sufficient answer to this
objection is that the very thing which it is said cannot be done has
been already done and done many times. It has been done, too, in the
face of the very objection that it could not be done at all. The proof
of this statement lies in the existence of the pronouncing dictionary.
Works of this nature did not appear until the latter part of the
eighteenth century. Before they appeared the project of producing them
was criticised with extreme severity. They were denounced as irrational
of nature and as impossible of execution. The same arguments, assumed
to be convincing, were produced against them as those just considered
against uniform phonetic spelling. Doctor Johnson brought the artillery
of his ponderous polysyllables to bear upon them. He proved--at least,
to his own satisfaction--the utter futility of Sheridan’s scheme of
preparing a work of this nature. His argument was based entirely on
the ground of the wide differences prevailing in pronunciation. In
spite of these arguments pronouncing dictionaries were prepared. At
a comparatively early period several appeared in rapid succession.
They are now so thoroughly established in the affections of us all
that were a dictionary to leave out this characteristic it would
cease to have consideration and sale. But a work of such sort goes
upon the assumption that there is a standard pronunciation. Otherwise
it would have no justification for its own existence. Its compilers
seek to ascertain and represent this standard. A word, indeed, may be
and not unfrequently is pronounced differently by different classes
of educated men. In that case both or all sounds of it will be
recognized--at least, until such time as one has come to prevail over
the other or over all others. The pronouncing dictionary was indeed a
necessity of the situation. It was called by Archbishop Trench “the
absurdest of all books.” On what ground it can be called absurd by
an advocate of the existing orthography it is hard to determine. It
is, without doubt, a clumsy substitute for phonetic spelling. It is
not for him, however, who protests against such spelling to denounce
the aid to correct pronunciation, imperfect as it may be, which has
been rendered absolutely essential by the general prevalence of the
beliefs he accepts and defends. Had pronouncing dictionaries not come
to exist, the divergence which has been going on between spelling
and pronunciation in consequence of our lawless orthography would
have rapidly extended with the extension of the language and with the
increasing number of those who came to speak it, dwelling as they do
in regions far apart. Diversities of pronunciation would have been
sure to spring up in such a case even among the educated classes, to
say nothing of those prevailing in classes of different social grades
living almost in contact. As a matter of fact such do spring up now.
They must necessarily continue to spring up in a language where the
spelling is not under the sway of phonetic law. But they are reduced
to the lowest possible terms, in consequence of the wide use of
pronouncing dictionaries. Between the authorizations of these there are
at times divergences, but the agreements are far more numerous than
the divergences. Hence, the authorizations are sufficient to keep the
language fairly uniform. Furthermore, these works bring out clearly
the truth of the statement with which this chapter began: that every
speaker of English has to learn two languages. In dictionaries, the one
he reads and writes is given the place of honor on the printed page. To
it he turns whenever for any purpose he wishes to consult its meaning.
Following after it, whenever the word is not itself phonetically
spelled, is the form of it, usually in parentheses, as it is heard from
the lips of men. To this he turns for its pronunciation.

No project is entertained by any organized body to establish phonetic
spelling. It can hardly be said to exist outside of dictionaries.
These have to employ it or some approach to it in order to convey to
the users of language a conception of the proper pronunciation which
the form itself does not indicate. The discussion of the subject
is, therefore, an academic question rather than a practical one.
But this it is desirable to say about it. Phonetic spelling is not
a destructive but a conservative agency. Just as the creation of
literature holds a language fast to its moorings, just as it renders
it stable by arresting all speedy verbal or grammatical change, so the
establishment of phonetic spelling would operate upon orthoepy. The
exact pronunciation would be imposed upon the word by its very form.
No one could mistake it, no one would be tempted to disregard it. From
it there would never be variation save when a change in the sound
imperatively demanded a change in the spelling to indicate it. This is
a counsel of perfection which we can recognize as desirable, but need
never expect--at least, in our day--to see realized. None the less can
we discern the benefits that would result from it. Had it existed with
us, the wide degradation of that sound of a which is represented in
_father_ and _far_ could not have gone on at the rapid rate it has done
in this country. There are districts in the United States where even
the following _l_ does not protect it, and _calm_, for illustration,
is made to ryme with _clam_. Did phonetic spelling exist in the mother
country, the pronunciation of _a_ almost like “long _i_”--as, for
example, _late_, which by American ears is apt to be mistaken for
_light_--now so prevalent in London and apparently extending over
England, could never have held its ground, even with those who had
received but a limited education. With an orthography which has no
recognizable standard of correct usage, degradations of this sort are
always liable to occur; nothing, in fact, can keep them from occurring.


FOOTNOTES:

[36] _English, Past and Present_, p. 298, 8th edition, revised, London,
1873.

[37] _English, Past and Present_, p. 326.

[38] See page 165.




                              CHAPTER VII

                        THE FINAL CONSIDERATION


There remains one final consideration. No one who has had the patience
to examine dispassionately the facts contained in the preceding
chapters can have failed to recognize the loss of time and waste of
effort which the acquisition of our present orthography involves.
Beside these, the needless squandering of money it causes, though a
subject of just complaint, seems to me, after all, of slight account.
But even evils of this sort, great as they unquestionably are, yield
in importance to one far greater. In truth, it is not because of the
waste of time in education--harmful as that unquestionably is--that
our present orthography is peculiarly objectionable. It is the direct
influence the acquisition of it exerts in putting the intellectual
faculties to sleep at the most active period of life. Learning to spell
is, with us, a purely mechanical process. As a mental discipline it is
as utterly valueless as mere memorizing, where the student does not
understand what he is repeating. Like that, it is also a positive
intellectual injury. At the very outset of his school life the child is
introduced into a study in which one natural and most important process
in education, that of reasoning from analogy, is summarily suppressed.
He finds at once, because the sound in one word is represented in
one way, that it does not follow, as it ought, that in the next word
he comes to it will be represented the same way. On the contrary,
he finds it denoted by an entirely different combination of letters
for no reason which he can possibly discover. It accordingly never
enters his head that a sign, whether consisting of a single letter or
a digraph, represents a particular sound and strictly ought never to
represent but one. For him it can and usually does represent any one
of half-a-dozen. This of itself tends to deprive him of the possession
of all knowledge of the number and value of the sounds belonging to
our speech. Unfortunately such a result is not the worst. The far more
serious injury caused is the influence exerted upon the mind by the
prohibition which the acquiring of our present orthography succeeds in
imposing upon the exercise of the reason.

We can get some glimpse of the havoc wrought to the reasoning powers
by considering a single one of hundreds of illustrations that could
be cited. At the very outset of his study the child is given, for
example, the words _bed_ and _red_ to spell. If he has been properly
trained up to this point, the limited acquaintance he has made with
the values of letters leads him to say _b-e-d_ and _r-e-d_. These are
pure phonetic spellings. They satisfy all the conditions. Then he is
introduced to the word _head_. Reasoning from analogy, he proceeds
to spell it _h-e-d_. But here authority steps in and directs him to
insert another letter for which neither he nor his instructor can see
the use. Then the word _bead_ is shown him. Following the analogy of
_head_, he naturally pronounces it _bĕd_. Once more authority steps in
and directs him to give the combination _ea_ another and quite distinct
sound. Next, he is presented with the infinitives and presents, _read_
and _hear_. Conforming to the example just given, and perceiving it to
be satisfactory, he fancies that he has reached at last a secure haven.
He finds his error when he meets the preterites of these two verbs.
Both have the same vowel combinations as the present. One of them has
precisely the same form. But he discovers that _read_ of the preterite
has quite a distinct pronunciation from _read_ of the present, and
that the _ea_ of _heard_ has still another sound, distinct from that of
either, to which he has not yet been introduced.

This condition of things is one which in numerous cases cannot easily
be remedied, owing to the lawlessness prevailing in our representation
of sounds. For the present, therefore, it may have to stand. But let
us take up one or two cases where irrationality now prevails, and yet
where a rational change can be made easily. It would, for instance,
assuredly seem hard for a being who possesses intellect enough to be
lost or saved to pretend that he sees any reason why the plural of
words ending in _o_ should end sometimes with simple _s_ and sometimes
with _es_. Occasionally they have both terminations, according to
the fancy of the individual writer. For illustration, the plurals of
_grotto_, _halo_, _memento_, _motto_, and _negro_ are spelled by some
authors with _os_ and by others with _oes_. In the case of _hero_, the
latter ending has become the one regularly employed. This is probably
due to the fact that the singular once ended in _e_. Discarded from
that, it has transferred its unnecessary existence to the plural. As
the large majority of these words never had the _e_ as a termination,
there seems not to be the slightest excuse on the ground either of
derivation or pronunciation for inserting anywhere in the inflection
the unnecessary letter. On the other hand, there seems every reason for
making the spelling of the termination of this class of words uniform.
Yet men will be found to insist in imposing upon the learner the task
of mastering a distinction which serves no other purpose than to defy
analogy and insult common sense.

Or take another sort of trouble which adds its burden to early
education and contributes its share to the impairment of the reasoning
powers. In the case of certain words the child is censured if he
leaves a letter out. In the case of other words of precisely the same
character and origin he is censured if he puts it in. He is asked, for
example, to spell the conjunction _till_. The men who first employed
the word had no use for but one _l_. They therefore did not double it.
Now if the child spells it, as did his remote ancestors, with a single
_l_, he is blamed; but when he comes to its compound _until_, he is
blamed again if he spells it with two _l’s_. If such differences of
form served any purpose whatever, some justification might be pleaded
for their maintenance. But nothing of the sort do they do. They simply
heap up the burden of useless or rather harmful knowledge with which
children are compelled to load their memory in defiance of their
reason. Time which should be spent in learning something valuable
in itself, and therefore permanently profitable, is now wasted in
mastering empty distinctions in the external representation of words
which have no distinction in reality, but are reckoned conventionally
of the first importance.

Is it any wonder that in circumstances like these the child should
speedily infer that it is of no benefit to him to make use of what
little reasoning power he has been enabled to acquire? He must force
himself to submit blindly to authority, which compels him to accept as
true what he feels to be false. Now, authority in education is a good
as well as a necessary thing when its dictates are based upon reason.
But when they are not, when in truth they are defiant of reason, no
more pernicious element can well enter into the training of the young.
Doubtless the logical processes employed in other studies correct in
time for most of us the mental twist thus imparted in childhood. But it
is not always corrected. We have only to read certain of the arguments
advanced against spelling reform to become aware that the faculty of
reasoning on this subject which has been muddled in childhood is apt to
remain muddled the rest of one’s life.

One illustration will bring out pointedly the truth of this last
assertion. There is frequent complaint that the children in our schools
spell badly. In this there is nothing new. It is a charge which has
been made in every generation since spelling assumed the abnormal
importance which has been imparted to it by modern devotion. In the
sense in which it is often understood the complaint has no foundation
in fact. Children spell just as well now as they did a generation
or generations ago. If anything--persons of different periods, but
belonging to the same class being alone taken into consideration--the
proportion of so-called good spellers will pretty certainly be found
larger now than ever before. But there always has been, and so long as
our present absurd orthography continues there always will be, a goodly
number of persons by whom it will never be thoroughly acquired. By many
a respectable mastery of it will not be gained till a comparatively
late period in their education. All this, too, in spite of the fact
that in the popular mind correctness of spelling has assumed an
exceptional importance. A man can blunder in his statement of facts;
he can lay down false premises and draw from them the absurdest
conclusions; he can exhibit incompetence and inconsequence in the
discussion of matters important or unimportant--yet none of these
gross manifestations of ignorance and incapacity will bring him so
much discredit in the eyes of many as the inability to spell certain
common words properly. There is something even worse than this. In many
communities a man may be a drunkard or a libertine with far less injury
to his reputation than the disclosure of the fact that he is unable to
spell correctly.

This state of feeling has imparted to spelling a factitious importance
in modern education. But it involves further an inconsistency in the
course of many of the stoutest defenders of the present orthography.
These are often seeking to reconcile things which are incompatible. No
more frequent attacks are made upon the system of education prevalent
in our higher institutions of learning than the stress they are
supposed to lay upon the cultivation of the memory instead of the
reason. Now, if there be any truth in this accusation, the course
adopted is nothing more than an extension to the advanced student of
the very processes which are used in the instruction of the child. In
learning to spell, his memory is developed not merely in place of the
reason, but too often in defiance of it. Yet in nineteen cases out
of twenty it will be found that the very persons who indulge in the
most lugubrious lamentations about the subordination of the reason to
the memory in the educational processes employed in our universities,
are the ones who insist most strongly upon the retention of an
orthography which tends inevitably to produce the very effect they
profess to deplore. In one breath they complain of the poor spelling
of the students in our schools and colleges. In the next breath they
object to any alterations which would bring order where now all is
inconsistency and confusion; to changes of any sort which would make
English orthography approach nearer rationality, and, therefore, easier
to acquire. Is it not fair to consider this attitude on their part a
direct result of that mental twist already mentioned as imparted in
childhood?

I do not believe myself that the English race, once fully awakened
to the exact character of English orthography, will cling forever to
a system which wastes the time of useful years, and can only exhibit
as its best educational result the development of the memory at the
expense of the reasoning powers. I do not underrate the immensity of
the obstacles which lie in the path of those who set out to accomplish
even the slightest change. There is, first and foremost, the
impossibility of effecting, in the present state of public opinion,
any thoroughgoing and therefore completely consistent reform. In any
partial reform which can be secured there will be certain to remain
inconveniences and inconsistencies which it must be left to the future
to correct. At these the objector can always plausibly carp. But
there is something more than the difficulty inherent in the matter
itself. This is the immensity of the efforts demanded to destroy the
superstition as to the sanctity of this creation, not of scholars,
but of printers, which we call English orthography. Even to do this
preliminary work will require the time and toil of years of struggle.

The fact is perhaps not much to be regretted. There is nothing worth
living for that is not worth fighting for. But the task is no light
one. Not merely have ignorance and prejudice to be overcome, but, what
is far worse, stupidities, against which, the poet tells us, even
the gods fight unvictorious. The higher class of minds have, indeed,
been largely gained over. But there is little limit to the endeavor
that must be put forth before any impression can be made upon that
inert mass which prefers to remain content with any degree of error,
however great, in preference to making any attempt to correct it,
however slight. Still, this is the usual experience of all movements
which aim to overthrow “the reign of ill custom”--to use Jonson’s
words--which has long prevailed. The advocates of reform of English
orthography can expect nothing different. But they can be encouraged
by the recollection that the efforts of men in the past engaged in
even harder enterprises have after long years of struggle been carried
to successful completion, because the combatants themselves have been
sustained by the hope, and have acted under the inspiration, that what
ought to be is to be.




                             VERBAL INDEX


  about, _adv._ and _prep._, 77.

  accede, _v._, 254.

  acre, aker, _n._, 26, 27.

  active, _a._, 271.

  æcer, _n._, 27.

  æra, _n._, 122.

  æther, _n._, 122.

  after, _prep._, 101.

  again, _adv._, 119.

  aghast, _a._, 177, 290.

  agile, _a._, 270.

  ah, _interjec._, 170.

  ail, _v._, 309, 314.

  aile, _n._, 87.

  aisle (aile, ile, yle), _n._, 77, 126, 137, 181.

  ale, _n._, 87, 309, 314.

  allowd, _p.p._, 319.

  ambassador, -our, _n._, 197, 212, 221.

  amphitheater, -re, _n._, 31.

  anchor, _n._ and _v._, 178.

  annual, _a._, 130.

  annuity, _n._, 130.

  answer, _v._, 101, 172.

  ant, _n._, 299.

  anterior, -our, _a._, 211.

  antique, _a._, 105.

  antre (antar, antree), _n._, 34.

  any, _a._, 119, 120.

  archangel, _n._, 186.

  archbishop, _n._, 186.

  are, _v._, 79, 269.

  asafœtida, _n._, 152.

  author, -our, _n._, 206, 213, 220, 223, 292, 320.

  autumn, _n._, 168.

  awful, _a._, 312.

  aye, _adv._ and _n._, 77.

  ayther (either), _a._ and _conj._, 146.


  back, _n._, 171, 220, 291.

  balm, _n._, 102.

  banisht, _p.p._, 319.

  bar, _n._ and _v._, 102.

  bard, _p.p._, 319.

  bare, _a._, 309.

  bath, _n._, 102.

  bead, _n._, 333.

  bear, _n._ and _v._, 309.

  become, becum, _v._, 268.

  bed, _n._, 333.

  been, _p.p._, 124, 136, 262-264.

  bethral(l), _v._, 257.

  “bile,” _v._, 134.

  billet, -doux, _n._, 169, 181.

  blood, _n._, 132, 153.

  Boston, _n._, 302.

  Botolph, St., _n._, 303.

  bow, _n._, 169.

  break, _v._, 115.

  breeches, _n._, _pl._, 124, 136.

  broad, _a._, 114.

  build (bild, byld), _v._, 124.

  builded, built, _p.p._, 184.

  bullock, _n._, 171.

  burn, _v._, 105.

  business, _n._, 124.

  busy, _a._, 124.

  but, _adv._ and _conj._, 105.

  buy, _v._, 77, 126, 157.

  byast, _p.p._, 319.


  cag, _n._, 120.

  calf, _n._, 102, 103, 162.

  calm, _a._, 102, 329.

  candor, -our, _n._, 212.

  canoe, _n._, 152.

  caprice, _n._, 105.

  car, _n._, 102.

  catcal(l), _n._, 257.

  catch, _v._, 120.

  center, -re, _n._, 28, 30, 31, 33.

  centry, _n._, 29.

  centure, _n._, 29.

  chance, _n._ and _v._, 101.

  chart, _n._, 260.

  check, cheque, _n._, 159.

  chirurgeon, _n._, 298.

  choir, _n._, 77, 186.

  Cirencester, _n._, 296, 301.

  clamor, -our, _n._, 231.

  cleave, _v._, 311.

  clerk, _n._, 113.

  climb, clime, _v._, 165, 166.

  cognizance, _n._, 260.

  college, colledge, _n._, 188.

  colonel, _n._, 262.

  color, -our, _n._, 196, 206, 228.

  comb, _n._, 165, 166.

  come, cum, _v._, 268.

  complete, compleat, _a._, 121.

  compt, _n._ and _v._, 163.

  comptroller, _n._, 162, 188.

  conceit, conceipt, _n._, 180.

  condemn, _v._, 168, 264.

  condemnation, _n._, 168.

  confessor, -our, _n._, 197.

  confind, _p.p._, 319.

  congratulate, _v._, 102.

  conspirator, -our, _n._, 220.

  contemn, _v._, 264.

  controller, _n._, 162, 288.

  convey, _v._, 8.

  coold, _p.p._, 319.

  coquette, _n._, 260.

  coronel, _n._, 262.

  coud(e), _pret._, 179, 319.

  cough, _n._, 77, 156.

  could, _pret._, 179, 319.

  count, _n._ and _v._, 162.

  critick, _n._, 292.

  critique, _n._, 105.

  crum, crumb, _n._, 167.

  cupboard, _n._, 183.

  czar, _n._, 165.


  dance, _n._ and _v._, 101.

  danger (dainger), _n._, 87.

  debit, _n._, 173.

  debt, det, _n._, 5, 172.

  deceit, _n._, 8, 180;
    deceipt, 180.

  deign, _v._, 8, 284.

  diameter, _n._, 8.

  diocese, diocess, _n._, 60-68.

  disdain, _v._ and _n._, 8.

  docile, _a._, 270.

  doctor, -our, _n._, 220.

  does, _v._, 132.

  done, _p.p._, 269.

  door, _n._, 127, 153, 293.

  doubt, dout, _n._, 5, 172.

  downfal(l), _n._, 257.

  downhil(l), _n._, 257.

  dress, _v._, 311.

  ductile, _a._, 270.

  dumb, _a._, 165, 166.

  duty, _n._, 310.

  dwelled, dwelt, _p.p._, 184.

  dye, _n._ and _v._, 77.


  eager, _a._, 33.

  eclat, _n._, 169.

  economy, _n._, 152.

  economic, _n._, 152.

  edit(e), _v._, 267.

  eh, _interj._, 104, 115, 170.

  either, _a._ and _conj._, 126, 146-148.

  emmet, _n._, 299.

  emperor, -our, _n._, 197, 212, 221, 320.

  empty, _a._, 179.

  enclosed, _p.p._, 319.

  encyclopedia, -pædia, _n._, 122.

  engine, _n._, 270.

  England, _n._, 261.

  English, _a._, 261.

  era, _n._, 122.

  error, -our, _n._, 205, 206, 221, 223.

  ether, _n._, 122.

  etiquette, _n._, 260.

  exceed, _v._, 254.

  Exeter, Excester, _n._, 302.

  exterior, -our, _a._, 211.

  eye, _n._, 77, 126.


  faild, _p.p._, 319.

  fancy, _n._, 8, 102, 288.

  fantasy, _n._, 288.

  far, _a._ and _adv._, 100, 113, 329.

  fast, _adv._, 311.

  father, _n._, 113, 133, 329.

  fatigue, _n._, 105.

  _faveur_, _Fr. n._, 210.

  favor, -our, _n._ and _v._, 205, 206, 209, 222-227, 234, 236.

  feel, _v._, 104.

  feign, _v._, 284.

  felt, _p.p._, 184.

  fetid, fœtid, _a._, 152.

  fiber, -re, _n._, 28, 31.

  fill, _v._, 104.

  flood, _n._, 132, 153.

  floor, _n._, 127, 153.

  fonetic, _a._, 287.

  fool, _n._, 105.

  foot, _n._, 128, 129.

  foreign, _a._, 176.

  forestal(l), _v._, 259.

  forgetful(l)ness, _n._, 258.

  fortuitous, _a._, 130.

  fortune, _n._, 130.

  fought, _p.p._, 77.

  four, _num._, 77.

  frendly, _a._, 151.

  frendship, _n._, 151.

  friend, frend, _n._, 150.

  full, _a._, 105.

  ful(l)ness, _n._, 258.

  futile, _a._, 270.


  gage, gauge, guage, _v._ and _n._, 116-119.

  gaol, _n._, 115, 116.

  genuine, _a._, 271.

  ghastly, _a._, 177.

  gherkin, _n._, 177, 178.

  ghost, _n._, 177.

  give, _v._, 269.

  glass, _n._, 101, 102.

  governor, -our, _n._, 197, 212, 221.

  grass, _n._, 101.

  great, _a._, 115, 144.

  grotto, _n._, 334.

  guage, _v._ _See_ gage.

  guard, _n._ and _v._, 113.

  guardian, _n._, 113.

  guild, _n._, 124.

  guilt, _n._, 124.

  guy, _n._, 157.


  ha, _interj._, 170.

  haddock, _n._, 171.

  hale, _a._, 15.

  half, _n._ and _adv._, 102, 103.

  hallelujah, _n._, 170, 183.

  halo, _n._, 334.

  hammock, _n._, 171.

  harlequin, _n._, 260.

  hassock, _n._, 171.

  haunch, _n._, 113.

  haunt, _n._, 113.

  hautbois, _n._, 181.

  have, _v._, 269.

  havoc, havock, _n._, 171.

  head, _n._, 300, 333.

  heal, _n._, 15.

  health, _n._, 17.

  hear, _v._, 333.

  heard, _pret._ and _p.p._, 334.

  hearken, _v._, 113.

  heart, _n._, 113.

  hearth, _n._, 144.

  hed, heed, _n._, 300.

  heifer, _n._, 119, 145.

  height, _n._, 77, 126, 145.

  heir, _n._, 114.

  hero, _n._, 334.

  heved, _n._, 300.

  hexameter, _n._, 8.

  high, hye, _a._, 182.

  hillock, _n._, 171.

  historick, _a._, 292.

  hole, _a._, 15, 319.

  hol(e)some, _a._, 319.

  honnour, _n._, 234.

  honor, _n._ and _v._, 5, 8, 194-237.

  honorable, honourable, _a._, 8, 203.

  honorary, _a._, 8.

  horror, -our, _n._, 221, 231.

  hostile, _a._, 270.

  hot, _a._, 14, 15.

  hour, _n._, 198.

  housewife, _n._, 259.

  humor, -our, _n._, 195, 203, 205, 232.

  huzzy, _n._, 260.

  hymn, _n._ and _v._, 168.


  iland, _n._, 290.

  impoverisht, _p.p._, 319.

  impugn, _v._, 285.

  infantile, _a._, 270.

  Ingland, _n._, 261.

  Inglish, _a._, 262.

  innovator, -our, _n._, 220.

  instal(l), _v._, 257.

  interior, -our, _a._, 211.

  intrigue, _n._, 105.

  inveigh, _v._, 8.

  inventor, -our, _n._, 320.

  irreconcil(e)able, _a._, 257.

  island, _n._, 181.

  isle, _n._, 181.


  jail, _n._, 115, 116.

  jeopard, _v._, 119.

  jocose, _a._, 26.

  joke, _n._, 26.


  kay, _n._, 141.

  keg, _n._, 120.

  kennel, _n._, 120.

  “ketch,” _v._, 120.

  key, _n._, 122, 145.

  key (quay), _n._, 141, 142.

  kiln, _n._, 168.

  knave, _n._ 304-306.

  knife, _n._, 307.

  knoll, _n._, 307.

  knowledge, knowlege, _n._, 188.


  labor, -our, _n._ and _v._, 196, 203, 205, 209, 211, 228, 232, 319.

  lackey, lacquey, _n._, 159.

  ladder, _n._, 307.

  lamb, _n._, 165, 166.

  last, _a._, 101.

  late, _a._, 329.

  laught, _p.p._, 319.

  lead, _v._, and lead, _n._, 313.

  legislator, -our, _n._, 220.

  leisure, _n._, 119.

  leopard, _n._, 119.

  lie, _n._ and _v._, 77.

  lieutenant, _n._, 262.

  limb, lim, _n._, 167.

  limn, _v._, 168.

  literature, _n._, 130, 131.

  lot, _n._, 307.

  loud, _a._, 307.

  love, _n._ and _v._, 269.

  lucre, lukar, _n._, 28.

  luster, -re, _n._, 28, 29.


  machine, _n._, 105.

  magazine, _n._, 105.

  many, _a._, 119, 120.

  marine, _a._, 105.

  massacre, _n._, 26.

  masquerade, _n._, 260.

  mate, _n._, 103.

  mattock, _n._, 171.

  meager, -re, _a._, 28, 29, 31, 33.

  memento, _n._, 334.

  Messiah, -as, _n._, 170.

  met, _p.p._, 103.

  meter, -re, _n._, 8, 28, 29, 33.

  mirror, -our, _n._, 197.

  miscal(l), _v._, 257.

  miter, -re, _n._, 28.

  mixt, _p.p._, 37.

  mold, mould, _n._, 319.

  monarch (k), _n._, 319.

  mood, _n._, 153.

  most, _a._, 128.

  motto, _n._, 334.

  mouth, _n._, 98.

  musick, _n._, 292.


  nap, _n._, 307.

  native, _a._, 271.

  nausea, _n._, 294.

  nayther (neither), _a._, 146.

  neck, _n._, 307.

  negro, _n._, 334.

  neither, _a._, 126, 146-148.

  nigh, nye, _a._, 180.

  niter, -re, _n._, 28, 31.

  nonpareil, _n._, 119, 145.

  numb, _a._, 167.

  nut, _n._, 307.


  oath, _n._, 98.

  obey, _v._, 104.

  oblige, _v._, 105.

  oblique, _a._, 105.

  odor, -our, _n._, 232, 236.

  of, _prep._, 162.

  oh, _interj._, 170.

  onur (honor), _n._, 198.

  opprest, _p.p._, 319.

  orator, -our, _n._, 221, 320.

  our, _pr._, 153.

  overfal(l), _n._, 257.


  pack, _p.p._, 319.

  packet, pacquet, _n._, 159.

  path, _n._, 98, 102.

  penury, _n._, 130.

  penurious, _a._, 130.

  people, _n._, 122.

  phantasy, _n._, 288.

  phantom, _n._, 8.

  philosophy, _n._, 287.

  phonetic, _a._, 287.

  phthisic, _n._, 298.

  phthisis, _n._, 165.

  pickt, _p.p._, 225.

  piece, _n._, 310.

  “pint,” _n._, 133.

  pique, _n._, 105.

  plait, _n._, 138.

  plant, _n._, 101.

  pleasure, _n._, 119.

  plum, plumb, _n._, 167.

  plumb, _a._, 166.

  police, _n._, 105.

  possessor, -our, _n._, 221.

  posterior, -our, _a._, 211.

  pour, _v._, 155.

  prayer, _n._, 114.

  precede, _v._, 8.

  preceptor, -our, _n._, 220.

  prejudice, _n._, 271.

  pretty, _a._, 124, 260.

  proceed, _v._, 8.

  professor, -our, _n._, 220.

  profile, _n._, 105.

  prosaick, _a._, 292.

  psalm, _n._, 103, 165.

  pseudo, _prefix_, 165.

  ptarmigan, _n._, 165.

  publick, _a._, 292.

  publisht, _p.p._, 225.

  puft, _p.p._, 319.

  put, _v._, 106, 124.


  quadrille, _n._, 260.

  quay, _n._, 122, 141-143.

  quick, _a._, 291.

  quinsy, _n._, 298.

  quire, _n._, 186.


  rain, _n._ and _v._, 311.

  rancor, -our, _n._, 232.

  raspberry, rasberry, _n._, 180.

  rather, _adv._, 102.

  raven, _n._, 307.

  reacht, _p.p._, 225.

  read, _v._, 333;
    _pret._, 333.

  receipt, receit, _n._, 8, 180.

  recognizance, _n._, 260.

  reconcil(e)able, _a._, 257.

  rector, -our, _n._, 220.

  red, _pret._, 319.

  red, _a._, 333.

  redoubt, _n._, 174.

  redoubtable, redoutable, _a._, 174.

  redoubted, redouted, _a._, 174.

  reign, _n._ and _v._, 284, 311.

  rein, _n._ and _v._, 104, 311.

  reinstal(l), _v._, 257.

  rendezvous, _n._, 172.

  reporter, reportour, _n._, 197.

  reveller, revelour, _n._, 197.

  rhinoceros, _n._, 150.

  ridiculous, rediculous, _a._, 87.

  rigor, -our, _n._, 232.

  rile, _v._, 134.

  ring, _n._, 307.

  rioter, riotour, _n._, 197.

  risk, risque, _n._, 159.

  roil, _v._, 134.

  roof, _n._, 307.

  root, _n._, 128, 129.

  route, _n._, 154.

  routine, _n._, 105.

  rusht, _p.p._, 225.


  saber, sabre, _n._, 28.

  sack, _n._, 171, 220.

  said, _p.p._, 119.

  salt-peter, -re, _n._, 31, 34.

  says, _v._, 119.

  scene, _n._, 175.

  scent, _n._ and _v._, 175, 289.

  scepter, -re, _n._, 28, 29, 31, 33, 175, 319.

  sciatica, _n._, 175.

  science, _n._, 175.

  scimitar, _n._, 175.

  scintilla, _n._, 175.

  sciolist, _n._, 175.

  scion, _n._, 175.

  scissors, _n._, 175.

  scythe, _n._, 175.

  secede, _v._, 254.

  sed, _p.p._, 319.

  senator, -our, _n._, 197.

  sent, _n._, 289.

  separate, seperate, _v._, 111.

  sepulcher, -re, _n._, 28, 29, 31, 34.

  servitor, -our, _n._, 197.

  sew, _v._, 127, 149.

  shew, _v._, 127, 149.

  shoe, _n._, 128, 152.

  should, _pret._, 179, 319.

  shund, _p.p._, 319.

  sick, _a._, 171, 220, 291.

  sieve, _n._, 124.

  sleight, _n._, 126, 145.

  slept, _p.p._, 184.

  slough, _n._, 313.

  snatcht, _p.p._, 319.

  solemn, _a._, 168.

  solemnity, _n._, 168.

  sovereign, sovran, _a._, 177.

  spectator, -our, _n._, 220.

  specter, -re, _n._, 28.

  “spile,” _v._, 133.

  squinancy, squinasy, squinsy, _n._, 298.

  stay, _v._, 141.

  steak, _n._, 115.

  stirrup, _n._, 295.

  stock, _n._, 291.

  strew, _v._, 127, 149.

  stupor, -our, _n._, 212.

  succeed, _v._, 254.

  successor, -our, _n._, 197, 320.

  superior, -our, _a._, 320.

  supprest, _p.p._, 225.

  surgeon, _n._, 298.

  sword, _n._, 172.


  tailor, -our, _n._, 220.

  tarry, _v._, 313.

  tarry, _a._, 313.

  tear, _n._, 314.

  terror, -our, _n._, 221.

  Thames, _n._, 185.

  theater, -re, _n._, 28, 29, 30.

  then, _adv._, 96, 97.

  their, _pr._, 114.

  there, _adv._, 114.

  they, _pr._, 104, 133.

  thick, _a._, 220, 311.

  thin, _a._, 96, 97.

  thou, _pr._, 153, 155.

  through, thru, _prep._, 39, 293.

  thumb, thum, _n._, 167.

  thyme, _n._, 185.

  tierce, _n._, 132.

  till, _conj._, 335.

  tisik, tizzic, _n._, 299.

  tithe, _n._, 98.

  toe, _n._, 126, 129.

  tongue, _n._, 159, 268.

  torpor, -our, _n._, 212.

  Towcester, _n._, 296, 301.

  trait, _n._, 169.

  traitor, -our, _n._, 197.

  trough, _n._, 156.

  try, _v._, 77.

  tsar, _n._, 165.

  tutor, -our, _n._, 320.

  two, _num._, 172.


  unquestiond, _p._, 319.

  unrol(l), _v._, 257.

  until, _prep._ and _conj._, 335.

  uphill, _a._, 257.

  ure (hour), _n._, 198.


  valor, -our, _n._, 232.

  vanquisht, _p.p._, 225.

  vast, _a._, 101.

  vein, _n._, 104.

  vext, vexed, _p.p._, 37.

  view, _n._, 149.

  vigor, -our, _n._, 224, 232.

  villain (villian), _n._, 87.

  viscount, _n._, 181.

  volume, _n._, 130.

  voluminous, _a._, 130.


  warrior, -our, _n._, 212, 320.

  weather-gage, _n._, 118.

  where, _adv._, 114.

  Whig, _n._, 87.

  whole, _a._, 15, 319.

  wholesome, _a._, 319.

  whot, _a._, 14, 15.

  wind, _n._, 126.

  wolf, _n._, 162.

  women, _n., pl._, 124.

  wood, _n._, 153.

  woud, _pret._, 319.

  would, _pret._, 77, 179, 319.

  wound, _n._, 154.


  ye (the), 98.

  yeoman, _n._, 127, 148.

  you, your, _pr._, 153, 155.

  young, _a._, 77.

  youth, _n._, 77.

  yt (that), 98.




                             GENERAL INDEX


  _a_, as in _fare_, represented by _ai_, by _ay_, by _e_, by _ei_, 114.

  “_a_, broad,” 109, 136;
    represented by _au_, by _aw_, by _o_, by _oa_, 114;
      by _ou_, 114, 156.

  “_a_, long,” an _e_ sound, 103, 114;
    represented by _ai_, by _ay_, by _ea_, by _ei_, by _ey_, by _e_, by
     _ao_, by _au_, 115.

  _a_, long, represented by _ua_, by _ea_, by _e_, by _au_, 113.

  _a_, short, represented by _ua_, by _ai_, 114.

  _a_, sounds of, 100-103, 104, 106;
    weakened to _e_, 267;
    represents short _e_, 119, 120;
    represents short _o_, 126.

  Academies, influence of, 59.

  Addison, Joseph, 30, 31, 137.

  _ae_, digraph, disappearance of, 122, 123;
    represents “long _e_,” 122.

  _ai_, digraph, represents _a_ of _fare_, 136;
    “long _a_,” 115, 136;
    “long _i_,” 77, 126, 137;
    short _e_, 119, 136.

  Allen, Grant, 117.

  Alphabet, for what invented, 73;
    English, 76;
    insufficiency of Roman, 97, 99, 107.

  American spelling, so-called, 18, 25-29, 32.

  Analogical spelling, 251, 254, 332-334.

  Anglo-French words, 234, 288.

  Anglo-Saxon, 27, 150, 175, 267, 291, 300.

  _ao_, digraph, represents “long _a_,” 115.

  Arber, Edward, 151, 268.

  Armstrong, John, 216, 217, 220.

  Arnold, Matthew, 59-70.

  Ascham, Roger, 127, 151, 268.

  Association, sentiment of, 10-16, 20, 35, 36.

  Ash, John, 228.

  _au_, digraph, represents “broad _a_,” 114;
    “long _a_,” 115;
    long _a_, 113.

  _aw_, digraph, 109, 136;
    represents “broad _a_,” 114.

  _ay_, digraph, represents _a_ of _fare_, 114;
    “long _a_,” 115, 140;
    “long _e_,” 122,
  141;
    “long _i_,” 77;
    short _e_, 119.


  _b_, unpronounced, 165-167, 172-175.

  Bacon, Sir Francis, 27.

  Bailey, Nathan, 64, 205.

  Black-letter, 212.

  Bolingbroke, Henry St. John, viscount, 217.

  Boston, 89, 302.

  Boswell, James, 218-221, 292.

  Bullokar, John, 64.

  Byron, George Gordon Noel, Lord, 131, 191.


  _c_, letter, 79, 80, 97, 305;
    before _e_, 26-28;
    unpronounced, 172, 175, 289.

  Cambridge University, 19.

  _Cedo_, derivatives of Latin, 8, 253.

  Celtic origin, words of, 156.

  _ch_, digraph, 185;
    sounded as _k_, _kw_, and _sh_, 186.

  Chaucer, Geoffrey, 63, 80, 197, 274.

  Child, Francis James, 8, 9, 91.

  Clarke, Mary Cowden, 29.

  Cocker, Edward, 64.

  Coles, Elisha, 64, 205.

  Congreve, William, 225.

  Consonants, sounds of, 160 ff.

  Copyists of manuscripts, 273-275.


  _d_, crossed letter, 97.

  _d_, letter and sound, 184, 188.

  Derivation, influence of, on
  spelling, 11, 190, 200, 209, 210, 212, 243, 247-251, 283-307.

  Dickens, Charles, 271, 316.

  Dictionaries, English, 277.
    _See_ under Ash, Bailey, Bullokar, Cocker, Coles, Dyche and Pardon,
     Fenning, Johnson, Johnston, Kenrick, Kersey, Knowles, Martin,
     Minsheu, Nares, Perry, Phillips, Sheridan, Smart, Todd, Walker,
     Webster, Worcester.

  Dictionary, New Historical English, 115, 139, 142, 144, 195.

  Digraphs, 108, 134-160.

  Diphthongs, 108, 133.

  Dryden, John, 318.

  Dyche and Pardon’s Dictionary, 64, 65, 205, 228.


  _e_, letter and sound, 103, 106, 265;
    final, unpronounced, 265-271;
    medial unpronounced, 246, 257;
    represents “short _u_,” 132.

  “_e_, long,” 105, 121, 136;
    represented by _œ_, 122, 123;
    by _ay_, 142;
    by _ea_, 142, 143;
    by _ee_, by _ei_, by _eo_, 148;
    by _ey_, 142;
    by _ie_, 149; by _œ_, 152.

  _e_, short, represents long _a_, and “short _u_,” 113;
    short _i_, 123, 260, 262;
    is represented by _ai_, by _ay_, by _ei_, 119;
    by _a_, 119, 120;
    by _ea_, 119, 143;
    by _eo_, 119, 148;
    by _ie_, 150.

  _ea_, digraph, represents _a_ of _fare_, 114;
    of _father_, 113, 144;
    “long _a_,” 115, 146;
    “long _e_,” 122, 143, 333;
    short _e_, 119, 143, 333;
    “short _u_,” 132, 143, 334.

  _eau_, represents long _o_, 127.

  _ed_, termination, sounded as _t_, 37.

  _ee_, digraph, 109, 136, 145;
    represents “long _e_,” 122, 136, 263;
    short _i_, 124, 136.

  _ei_, digraph, represents _a_ of _fare_, 114, 145;
    “long _a_,” 104, 115, 145;
    “long _e_,” 122, 145-148;
    “long _i_,” 77, 126, 145-148;
    short _e_, 119, 145.

  Ellis, Alexander John, 274, 304.

  _eo_, digraph, represents “long _e_,” 122, 148;
    long _o_, 127, 148;
    short _e_, 119, 148.

  _er_ or _re_, ending, 8, 26-35.

  _eu_, digraph, represents long _u_, 129;
    _u_ with _y_ element, 130, 148.

  _ew_, digraph, represents long _o_, 127;
    long _u_, 129;
    _u_ with _y_ element 130, 148.

  _ey_, digraph, represents “long _a_,” 104, 115, 142, 145;
    “long _e_,” 122, 142, 145;
    long _i_, 77, 126.


  _f_, letter and sound, 162;
    displacing _ph_, 287, 288.

  Farquhar, George, 225.

  French Academy, 48, 51.

  French methods contrasted with English, 42-48.

  French derivation, words of, 163, 169, 181, 196, 197, 233, 289, 290.

  French orthography, 47, 71.

  French, Old, 118, 176, 177, 179, 201.


  _g_, letter followed by _e_, 157;
    unpronounced, 172, 176, 285.

  Garrick, David, 147.

  German, orthography, 13, 49, 50, 166, 304, 306, 322.

  _gh_, digraph, 170, 172, 181.

  Gladstone, William Ewart, 53.

  Glossographia Anglicana Nova, 64.

  _gn_, words beginning with, 163, 164.

  Grammar of writers once altered, 21.

  Greek origin, words of, 165, 175, 176, 177, 287, 288, 294, 299.

  Grimm, Jakob, 90.


  _h_, letter and sound unpronounced, 163, 165, 170, 172, 177-179, 198,
   199, 290;
    initial, dropped, 198, 303, 307.

  Hare, Julius Charles, 224-226.

  Heine, Heinrich, 189.

  Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 130, 149.

  Hume, David, 214-218.


  _i_, letter and sound, 97, 104, 105, 106;
    represents “short _u_,” 132.

  “_i_, long,” a diphthong, 105, 133, 159;
    sound of represented by _ai_, by _ay_, by _ey_, by _i_, by _uy_, by
     _y_, by _ye_, 77;
    by _ei_, 77, 126;
    by _ie_, 77, 149;
    by _oi_, 77, 134;
    by _ui_, 158.

  _i_, short, represented by _e_, 123, 124, 260;
    by _ee_, 124, 136, 262-264;
    by _ie_, 124;
    by _o_, 124;
    by _u_, 124;
    by _ui_, 124;
    by _y_, 123.

  _ie_, digraph, represents “long _e_,” 122, 149;
    “long _i_,” 77, 126, 149;
    short _i_, 124;
    “short _u_,” 132.

  _ieu_, represents _ef_, 262;
    long _u_, 129.

  _ile_, ending, 269, 270.

  _ine_, ending, 269, 271.

  Italian language and orthography, 49, 201, 287, 322.

  _ite_, ending, 269.

  _ive_, ending, 269, 271.


  _j_, sounded as _y_, 183.

  Johnson, Samuel, 64, 65, 102, 123, 127, 137, 145, 205, 207-214, 218,
   219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 227, 228, 244, 254, 257, 278, 326.

  Johnston, William, 155.

  Jonson, Ben, 127, 255.

  _Journal des Débats_, 61.


  _k_, letter and sound, 26-28,
  97, 163, 170, 171, 172, 260, 290, 291-293, 303-306.

  Kenrick, William, 155.

  Kersey, John, 205.

  Knowles, James Sheridan, 66.


  _l_, letter and sound, 172, 179, 257, 258, 262, 335.

  Lamb, Charles, 266.

  Landor, Walter Savage, 225-227.

  Latham, Robert Gordon, 68.

  L’Estrange, Roger, 115.

  _logue_, words ending in, 158.


  _m_, letter, 162.

  Macaulay, Thomas Babington, Lord, 267, 316.

  Manley, Mrs., 87.

  Martin, Benjamin, 65, 205.

  Metric system, 55.

  Middleton, Conyers, 217.

  Millar, Andrew, 217.

  Milton, John, 144, 225, 299, 312.

  Minsheu, John, 64.

  Mitford, William, 289.

  Moore, Thomas, 191.

  Morris, William, 191.

  Müller, Max, 91.


  _n_, letter and sound, 165, 264.

  Nares, Robert, 146, 155.

  _ng_, digraph, 185, 186.

  Normandy, dialect of, 115.

  Northern English dialect, 144.

  Notes and Queries, 236.

  _o_, letter and sound, 105, 106, 126, 127, 267;
    represents “broad _a_,” 114;
    long _u_, 128;
    short _i_, 124;
    short _u_, 128;
    “short _u_,” 132.

  _o_, long, represented by _eau_, 127, 153;
    by _eo_, 127, 153;
    by _ew_, 127;
    by _oa_, 126;
    by _oe_, 126;
    by _oo_, 127, 153;
    by _ou_, 127, 156;
    by _ow_, 127, 156.

  _oa_, digraph, represents “broad _a_,” 114, 151;
    long _o_, 126, 151.

  _oc_, _ock_, ending, 171.

  _oe_, digraph, in classical words, 152;
    represents long _o_, 126, 152;
    long _u_, 128, 152;
    “short _u_,” 133, 152.

  _oi_, diphthong, 133;
    represents “long _i_,” 77.

  _oo_, digraph, represents long _o_, 127, 153;
    long _u_, 128, 152;
    short _u_, 128, 152;
    “short _u_,” 132, 152.

  _or_, _our_, ending, history of, 193-237.

  Orthography, English, creation of printing-houses, 23, 24, 35,
   272-278.

  _os_, _oes_, ending, 334.

  _ou_, diphthong, 133, 153, 154;
    digraph, represents “broad _a_,” 114, 156;
    long _o_, 127, 156;
    long _u_, 128, 153;
    short _u_, 128, 156;
    “short _u_,” 132;
    various sounds of, 77, 156.

  _ow_, diphthong, 156;
    digraph, represents long _o_, 127, 156, 169.

  _oy_, diphthong, 133.


  _p_, letter and sound, 163;
    pronounced as _b_, 183;
    unpronounced, 179-181.

  Paris, dialect of, 115.

  Perry, William, 155.

  _ph_, digraph, 165.

  Phillips, Edward, 64, 205.

  Phonetic orthography, 71-75, 145, 239, 241, 243, 299, 321-330.

  Phonetic sense, lost to English, 308.

  Pope, Alexander, 154, 155, 217, 266.

  Practical men, easy omniscience of, 91.

  Printing, effect of, on spelling, 272-278.

  Printing-house, English orthography the creation of, 23, 272-278.

  Professors, guilelessness of, 91.

  Pronouncing dictionaries, 145, 325-328.

  Pronunciation, spelling designed to represent, 11, 73-76;
    made to accord with the spelling, 259-265.

  Proper names, orthography of, 296, 301-303.

  Public, hostility of, toward reforming spelling, 6, 17.

  Publishing houses, orthography adopted by, 5, 20-23.


  _q_, letter, 97.

  _qu_, digraph, 260.


  _r_, letter and sound, 79, 80.

  Ramsay, Allan, 217.

  Reasoning powers, impairment of, 335-337.

  Richardson, Samuel, 86.

  Ritson, Joseph, 245-248.

  Roosevelt, President, his order about spelling, 1, 59, 308.

  Runic letters, 97.


  _s_, of _pleasure_, represented by _s_, by _si_, by _z_, by _zi_, 187.

  _s_, unpronounced, 172, 181, 290.

  Sanskrit, 100.

  Scott, Sir Walter, 247.

  _sh_ (of _ship_), digraph, represented by _ce_, by _ci_, by _s_, by
   _si_, by _t_, by _ti_, by _xi_, 187.

  Shakespeare, William, 22, 24-30, 32-35, 116, 194, 195, 201-203.

  Sheridan, Thomas, 65, 207, 221, 263, 326.

  Signs, insufficiency of, in English, 96, 97, 99.

  Smart, Benjamin Humphrey, 66, 147, 230, 263.

  Sounds, 75, 76;
    number of, 96, 107;
    ignorance of, 78, 241.

  Southey, Robert, 131.

  Spanish spelling, 49, 322.

  Spelling, difference between present and past, 20-23, 24, 25;
    ignorance of nature and history of, 56 ff.

  Spelling reform, attitude of men of letters toward, 58;
    attitude of women
  toward, 82-86;
    not limited to English race, 48.

  Spenser, Edmund, 14, 155, 184, 185, 225.

  Sterne, Lawrence, 52.

  Strahan, William, 217.

  Swift, Jonathan, 31.


  _t_, represented by _ed_, 184, 185;
    unpronounced, 165, 169, 172, 181.

  Taylor, William, 131.

  Tennyson, Alfred, 142, 155.

  _th_, digraph, surd and sonant sounds of, 96-99;
    represents _t_, 185.

  Thackeray, William Makepeace, 316.

  “Thorn” letter, 97, 98.

  _Times_, London, 18, 60, 61, 62, 67, 68, 69.

  Todd, Henry John, 68.

  Tonson, Jacob, 30.

  Tooke, John Horne, 227.

  Trench, Richard Chenevix, 285, 294, 299, 308, 327.


  _u_, letter and sound, 97, 128, 129, 267, 293;
    represents short _i_, 124;
    sounded as _w_, 157;
    with _y_ element, represented by _u_, by _ue_, by _eu_, by _ew_,
     130.

  _u_, long, represented by _o_, by _oe_, by _ou_, 128;
    by _oo_, 128, 152;
    by _ue_, by _ui_, by _eu_, by _ew_, by _ieu_, 129.

  _u_, short, represented by _o_, by _ou_, 128;
    by _oo_, 128, 153.

  “_u_, short,” 105, 106, 111, 113, 131;
    short sound of, represented by _u_, by _oe_, 132;
    by _o_, 132, 153;
    by _oo_, 132, 153;
    long sound of represented by _e_, by _i_, by _o_, by _ie_, 132;
    by _ea_, 132, 144;
    by _ou_, 132, 153.

  _ua_, digraph, represents long _a_, 113;
    short _a_, 114;
    as _wa_, 157.

  _ue_, digraph, represents long _u_, 129, 158;
    as _we_, 157;
    final, unpronounced, 158.

  _ui_, digraph, represents long _u_, 129, 159;
    short _i_, 124;
    “long _i_,” 159.

  Unaccented syllables, indistinctness of sound of, 110.

  Uniformity of spelling, desire of, 277-278.

  _uy_, digraph, represents long _i_, 77, 126, 157;
    short _i_, 126.


  _v_, letter and sound, 97, 162, 172.

  Vanbrugh, Sir John, 225.

  Vowel-sounds, progressive movement of, 99-113.


  _w_, letter and sound, 156, 157, 178;
    unpronounced, 165, 172;
    followed by _h_, 163, 164;
    followed by _r_, 163, 164

  Walker, John, 65, 66, 101, 102, 139, 141, 147, 154, 155, 169, 178,
   207, 221, 222, 223, 230, 260, 263, 292.

  Webster, Noah, 228, 248-255.

  Wesley, John, 224.

  Whitney, William Dwight, 91, 100.

  Women, attitude of, towards spelling, 82-86;
    former indifference of, to spelling, 86.

  Worcester, Joseph Emerson, 89, 229, 252.


  _x_, letter, 97, 165.


  _y_, represents short _i_, 123;
    “long _i_,” 77, 126.


  _z_, unpronounced, 172.


                                THE END




                          Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation errors, mostly in the index, have been corrected.

Page 119: “ryming it” changed to “rhyming it”

Page 151: “from it at possible” changed to “from it as possible”

Page 318: “rymed heroic verse” changed to “rhymed heroic verse”