CHAPTER VII.

GRAMMAR AND PRONUNCIATION.

_Shall_ and _Will_. It has been pretty clearly shown that the somewhat anomalous and complicated niceties in the English use of _shall_ and _will_ have been developed within the last 300 years or so. It is of course well known that our Irish popular manner of using these {75} two particles is not in accordance with the present correct English standard; yet most of our shall-and-will Hibernianisms represent the classical usage of two or three centuries ago: so that this is one of those Irish 'vulgarisms' that are really survivals in Ireland of the correct old English usages, which in England have been superseded by other and often incorrect forms. On this point I received, some years ago, a contribution from an English gentleman who resided long in Ireland, Mr. Marlow Woollett, a man of wide reading, great culture, and sound judgment. He gives several old examples in illustration, of which one is so much to the point--in the use of _will_--that you might imagine the words were spoken by an Irish peasant of the present day. Hamlet says:

'I will win for him an (if) I can; if not I _will_ gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.' ('Hamlet,' Act v., scene ii.)

This (the second _will_) exactly corresponds with what many of us in Ireland would say now:--'I will win the race if I can; if not I _will_ get some discredit': 'If I go without my umbrella I am afraid I will get wet.' So also in regard to _shall_; modern English custom has departed from correct ancient usage and etymology, which in many cases we in Ireland have retained. The old and correct sense of _shall_ indicated obligation or duty (as in Chaucer:--'The faith I shal to God') being derived from A.S. _sceal_ 'I owe' or 'ought': this has been discarded in England, while we still retain it in our usage in Ireland. You say to an attentive Irish waiter, 'Please have breakfast for me at 8 o'clock to-morrow morning'; and he answers, 'I shall sir.' When I was a boy I was {76} present in the chapel of Ardpatrick one Sunday, when Father Dan O'Kennedy, after Mass, called on the two schoolmasters--candidates for a school vacancy--to come forward to him from where they stood at the lower end of the chapel; when one of them, Mat Rea, a good scholar but a terrible pedant, called out magniloquently, 'Yes, doctor, we SHALL go to your reverence,' unconsciously following in the footsteps of Shakespeare.

The language both of the waiter and of Mat Rea is exactly according to the old English usage.

'_Lady Macbeth_ (_to Macbeth_):--Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

'_Macbeth_:--So shall I, love.' ('Macbeth,' Act iii. scene ii.)

'_Second Murderer_:--We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us.' (_Ibid._, Act iii. scene i.)

But the Irish waiter's answer would now seem strange to an Englishman. To him, instead of being a dutiful assent, as it is intended to be, and as it would be in England in old times, it would look too emphatic and assertive, something like as if it were an answer to a command _not_ to do it. (Woollett.)

The use of _shall_ in such locutions was however not universal in Shakespearian times, as it would be easy to show; but the above quotations--and others that might be brought forward--prove that this usage then prevailed and was correct, which is sufficient for my purpose. Perhaps it might rather be said that _shall_ and _will_ were used in such cases indifferently:--

'_Queen_:--Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words.

'_Servant_: Madam, I will.' ('Macbeth,' Act iii. scene ii.)

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Our use of _shall_ and _will_ prevails also in Scotland, where the English change of custom has not obtained any more than it has in Ireland. The Scotch in fact are quite as bad (or as good) in this respect as we are. Like many another Irish idiom this is also found in American society chiefly through the influence of the Irish. In many parts of Ireland they are shy of using _shall_ at all: I know this to be the case in Munster; and a correspondent informs me that _shall_ is hardly ever heard in Derry.

The incorrect use of _will_ in questions in the first person singular ('Will I light the fire ma'am?' 'Will I sing you a song?'--instead of 'Shall I?') appears to have been developed in Ireland independently, and not derived from any former correct usage: in other words we have created this incorrect locution--or vulgarism--for ourselves. It is one of our most general and most characteristic speech errors. _Punch_ represents an Irish waiter with hand on dish-cover, asking:--'Will I sthrip ma'am?'

What is called the _regular_ formation of the past tense (in _ed_) is commonly known as the weak inflection:--_call, called_: the _irregular_ formation (by changing the vowel) is the strong inflection:--_run, ran_. In old English the strong inflection appears to have been almost universal; but for some hundreds of years the English tendency is to replace strong by weak inflection. But our people in Ireland, retaining the old English custom, have a leaning towards the strong inflection, and not only use many of the old-fashioned English strong past tenses, but often form strong ones in their own way:--We use _slep_ and _crep_, old English; and we coin others. 'He _ruz_ his hand {78} to me,' 'I _cotch_ him stealing the turf,' 'he _gother_ sticks for the fire,' 'he _hot_ me on the head with his stick,' he _sot_ down on the chair' (very common in America). Hyland, the farm manager, is sent with some bullocks to the fair; and returns. 'Well Hyland, are the bullocks sold?'--'Sowld and _ped_ for sir.' _Wor_ is very usual in the south for _were_: 'tis long since we _wor_ on the road so late as this.' (Knocknagow.)

'_Wor_ you at the fair--did you see the wonder-- Did you see Moll Roe riding on the gander?'

_E'er_ and _ne'er_ are in constant use in Munster:--'Have you e'er a penny to give me sir? No, I have ne'er a penny for you this time.' Both of these are often met with in Shakespeare.

The Irish schoolmasters knew Irish well, and did their best--generally with success--to master English. This they did partly from their neighbours, but in a large measure from books, including dictionaries. As they were naturally inclined to show forth their learning, they made use, as much as possible, of long and unusual words, mostly taken from dictionaries, but many coined by themselves from Latin. Goldsmith's description of the village master with his 'words of learned length and thundering sound,' applies exactly to a large proportion of the schoolmasters of the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth century all over Ireland. You heard these words often in conversation, but the schoolmasters most commonly used them in song-writing. Here also they made free use of the classical mythology; but I will not touch on this {79} feature, as I have treated of it, and have given specimens, in my 'Old Irish Folk Music and Songs,' pp. 200-202.

As might be expected, the schoolmasters, as well as others, who used these strange words often made mistakes in applying them; which will be seen in some of the following examples. Here is one whole verse of a song about a young lady--'The Phoenix of the Hall.'

'I being quite captivated and so infatuated I then prognosticated my sad forlorn case; But I quickly ruminated--suppose I was _defaited_, I would not be implicated or treated with disgrace; So therefore I awaited with my spirits elevated, And no more I ponderated let what would me befall; I then to her _repated_ how Cupid had me _thrated_, And thus expostulated with The Phoenix of the Hall.'

In another verse of this song the poet tells us what he might do for the Phoenix if he had greater command of language:--

'Could I indite like Homer that celebrated _pomer_.'

One of these schoolmasters, whom I knew, composed a poem in praise of Queen Victoria just after her accession, of which I remember only two lines:--

'In England our queen resides with _alacrity_, With civil authority and kind urbanity.'

Another opens his song in this manner:--

'One morning serene as I roved in solitude, Viewing the magnitude of th' orient ray.

The author of the song in praise of Castlehyde speaks of

'The bees _perfuming_ the fields with music';

{80} and the same poet winds up by declaring,

'In all my ranging and _serenading_ I met no _aiquel_ to Castlehyde.'

_Serenading_ here means wandering about leisurely.

The author of 'The Cottage Maid' speaks of the danger of Mercury abducting the lady, even

'Though an _organising_ shepherd be her guardian';

where _organising_ is intended to mean playing on an _organ_, i.e. a shepherd's reed.

But endless examples of this kind might be given.

Occasionally you will find the peasantry attempting long or unusual words, of which some examples are scattered through this chapter; and here also there are often misapplications: 'What had you for dinner to-day?' 'Oh I had bacon and goose and several other _combustibles_' (comestibles). I have repeatedly heard this word.

Sometimes the simple past tense is used for one of the subjunctive past forms. 'If they had gone out in their boat that night they were lost men'; i.e. 'they would have been lost men.' 'She is now forty, and 'twas well if she was married' ('it would be well').

'Oh Father Murphy, had aid come over, the green flag floated from shore to shore'

(i.e. would have floated). See my 'Old Irish Folk Music and Songs,' p. 242.

'A summons from William to Limerick, a summons to open their gate, Their fortress and stores to surrender, else the sword and the gun _were_ their fate.'

(R. D. JOYCE: Ballads of Irish Chivalry, p. 15.)

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_See_ is very often used for _saw_:--'Did you ever see a cluricaun Molly?' 'Oh no sir, I never see one myself.' (Crofton Croker.) 'Come here Nelly, and point out the bride to us.' 'I never see her myself Miss' [so I don't know her] replied Nelly. (Knocknagow.) This is a survival from old English, in which it was very common. It is moreover general among the English peasantry at the present day, as may be seen everywhere in Dickens.

The imperative of verbs is often formed by _let_:--instead of 'go to the right 'or 'go you to the right,' our people say 'let you go to the right': 'let you look after the cows and I will see to the horses.' A fellow is arrested for a crime and dares the police with:--'Let ye prove it.'

In Derry porridge or stirabout always takes the plural: 'Have you dished _them_ yet?'

'I didn't go to the fair _'cause why_, the day was too wet.' This expression _'cause why_, which is very often heard in Ireland, is English at least 500 years old: for we find it in Chaucer.

You often hear _us_ for _me_: 'Give us a penny sir to buy sweets' (i.e. 'Give me').

In Waterford and South Wexford the people often use such verbal forms as is seen in the following:--'Does your father grow wheat still?' 'He _do_.' 'Has he the old white horse now?' 'He _have_.' As to _has_, Mr. MacCall states that it is unknown in the barony of Forth: there you always hear 'that man _have_ plenty of money'--he _have_--she _have_, &c.

The Rev. William Burke tells us that _have_ is found as above (a third person singular) all through the old Waterford Bye-Laws; which would render it {82} pretty certain that both _have_ and _do_ in these applications are survivals from the old English colony in Waterford and Wexford.

In Donegal and thereabout _the yon_ is often shortened to _thon_, which is used as equivalent to _that_ or _those_: 'you may take _thon_ book.'

In Donegal 'such a thing' is often made _such an a thing_.' I have come across this several times: but the following quotation is decisive--'No, Dinny O'Friel, I don't want to make you say any such an a thing.' (Seamus MacManus.)

There is a tendency to put _o_ at the end of some words, such as boy-o, lad-o. A fellow was tried for sheep-stealing before the late Judge Monahan, and the jury acquitted him, very much against the evidence. 'You may go now,' said the judge, 'as you are acquitted; but you stole the sheep all the same, my buck-o.'

'I would hush my lovely laddo In the green arbutus shadow.'

(A. P. GRAVES: 'Irish Songs and Ballads.')

This is found in Irish also, as in '_a vick-o_' ('my boy,' or more exactly 'my son,' where _vick_ is _mhic_, vocative of _mac_, son) heard universally in Munster: 'Well Billy a vick-o, how is your mother this morning?' I suppose the English practice is borrowed from the Irish.

In Irish there is only one article, _an_, which is equivalent to the English definite article _the_. This article (_an_) is much more freely used in Irish than _the_ is in English, a practice which we are inclined to imitate in our Anglo-Irish speech. Our use of _the_ {83} often adds a sort of emphasis to the noun or adjective:--'Ah John was the man,' i.e. the real man, a man pre-eminent for some quality--bravery, generosity, &c. 'Ah that was the trouble in earnest.' The Irish chiefs of long ago 'were the men in the gap' (Thomas Davis):--i.e. the real men and no mistake. We often use the article in our speech where it would not be used in correct English:--'I am perished with _the_ cold.' 'I don't know much Greek, but I am good at _the_ Latin.'

'That was the dear journey to me.' A very common form of expression, signifying that 'I paid dearly for it'--'it cost me dear.' Hugh Reynolds when about to be hanged for attempting the abduction of Catherine McCabe composes (or is supposed to compose) his 'Lamentation,' of which the verses end in 'She's the dear maid to me.' (See my 'Old Irish Folk Music and Songs,' p. 135.) A steamer was in danger of running down a boat rowed by one small boy on the Shannon. 'Get out of the way you young rascal or we'll run over you and drown you!' Little Jacky looks up defiantly and cries out:--'Ye'll drownd me, will ye: if ye do, I'll make it the dear drownding to ye!' In such expressions it is however to be observed that the indefinite article _a_ is often used--perhaps as often as _the_:--'That was a dear transaction for me.' 'Oh, green-hilled pleasant Erin you're a dear land to me!' (Robert Dwyer Joyce's 'Ballads of Irish Chivalry,' p. 206.)

In Ulster they say:--'When are you going?' 'Oh I am going _the day_,' i.e. to-day. I am much better _the day_ than I was yesterday. In this _the day_ {84} is merely a translation of the Irish word for to-day--_andiu_, where _an_ is 'the' and _diu_ a form of the Irish for 'day.'

The use of the singular of nouns instead of the plural after a numeral is found all through Ireland. Tom Cassidy our office porter--a Westmeath man--once said to me 'I'm in this place now forty-four year': and we always use such expressions as _nine head of cattle_. A friend of mine, a cultivated and scholarly clergyman, always used phrases like 'that bookcase cost thirteen _pound_.' This is an old English survival. Thus in Macbeth we find 'this three mile.' But I think this phraseology has also come partly under the influence of our Gaelic in which _ten_ and numerals that are multiples of _ten_ always take the singular of nouns, as _tri-caogad laoch_, 'thrice fifty heroes'--lit. 'thrice fifty _hero_.'

In the south of Ireland _may_ is often incorrectly used for _might_, even among educated people:--'Last week when setting out on my long train journey, I brought a book that I _may_ read as I travelled along.' I have heard and read, scores of times, expressions of which this is a type--not only among the peasantry, but from newspaper correspondents, professors, &c.--and you can hear and read them from Munstermen to this day in Dublin.

In Ulster _till_ is commonly used instead of _to_:--'I am going _till_ Belfast to-morrow': in like manner _until_ is used for _unto_.

There are two tenses in English to which there is nothing corresponding in Irish:--what is sometimes called the perfect--'I _have finished_ my work'; and the pluperfect--'I _had finished_ my work' [before you {85} arrived]. The Irish people in general do not use--or know how to use--these in their English speech; but they feel the want of them, and use various expedients to supply their places. The most common of these is the use of the word _after_ (commonly with a participle) following the verb _to be_. Thus instead of the perfect, as expressed above, they will say 'I am after finishing my work,' 'I am after my supper.' ('Knocknagow.') 'I'm after getting the lend of an American paper' (_ibid._); and instead of the pluperfect (as above) they will say 'I was after finishing my work' [before you arrived]. Neither of these two expressions would be understood by an Englishman, although they are universal in Ireland, even among the higher and educated classes.

This word _after_ in such constructions is merely a translation of the Irish _iar_ or _a n-diaigh_--for both are used in corresponding expressions in Irish.

But this is only one of the expedients for expressing the perfect tense. Sometimes they use the simple past tense, which is ungrammatical, as our little newsboy in Kilkee used to do: 'Why haven't you brought me the paper?' 'The paper didn't come from the station yet sir.' Sometimes the present progressive is used, which also is bad grammar: 'I am sitting here waiting for you for the last hour' (instead of 'I have been sitting'). Occasionally the _have_ or _has_ of the perfect (or the _had_ of the pluperfect) is taken very much in its primary sense of having or possessing. Instead of 'You have quite distracted me with your talk,' the people will say 'You have me quite distracted,' &c.: {86} 'I have you found out at last.' 'The children had me vexed.' (Jane Barlow.)

'And she is a comely maid That has my heart betrayed.'

(Old Irish Folk-Song.)

'... I fear, That some cruel goddess _has him captivated_, And has left here in mourning his dear Irish maid.'

(See my Old Irish Folk Music and Songs, p. 208.)

Corresponding devices are resorted to for the pluperfect. Sometimes the simple past is used where the pluperfect ought to come in:--'An hour before you came yesterday I finished my work': where it should be 'I had finished.' Anything to avoid the pluperfect, which the people cannot manage.

In the Irish language (but not in English) there is what is called the consuetudinal tense, i.e. denoting habitual action or existence. It is a very convenient tense, so much so that the Irish, feeling the want of it in their English, have created one by the use of the word _do_ with _be_: 'I do be at my lessons every evening from 8 to 9 o'clock.' 'There does be a meeting of the company every Tuesday.' ''Tis humbuggin' me they _do be_.' ('Knocknagow.')

Sometimes this is expressed by _be_ alone without the _do_; but here the _be_ is also often used in the ordinary sense of _is_ without any consuetudinal meaning. 'My father _bees_ always at home in the morning': 'At night while I _bees_ reading my wife bees knitting.' (Consuetudinal.) 'You had better not wait till it bees night.' (Indicative.)

'I'll seek out my Blackbird wherever he be.' (Indicative.)

(Old Folk Song--'The Blackbird.')

{87} This use of _be_ for _is_ is common in the eastern half of Ireland from Wexford to Antrim.

Such old forms as _anear_, _adown_, _afeard_, _apast_, _afore_, &c., are heard everywhere in Ireland, and are all of old English origin, as it would be easy to show by quotations from English classical writers. 'If my child was standing _anear_ that stone.' (Gerald Griffin: 'Collegians.') 'She was never a-shy or ashamed to show' [her respect for me]. ('Knocknagow.') The above words are considered vulgar by our educated people: yet many others remain still in correct English, such as _aboard_, _afoot_, _amidst_, &c.

I think it likely that the Irish language has had some influence in the adoption and retention of those old English words; for we have in Irish a group of words identical with them both in meaning and structure: such as _a-n-aice_ (a-near), where _aice_ is 'near.' (The _n_ comes in for a grammatical reason.)

'I be to do it' in Ulster is used to express 'I have to do it': 'I am bound to do it'; 'it is destined that I shall do it.' 'I be to remain here till he calls,' I am bound to remain. 'The only comfort I have [regarding some loss sure to come on] is that it be to be,' i.e. that 'it is fated to be'--'it is _unavoidable_.' 'What bees to be maun be' (must be).

Father William Burke points out that we use 'every other' in two different senses. He remains at home always on Monday, but goes to town 'every other' day--meaning every day of the week except Monday: which is the most usual application among us. 'My father goes to town every other day,' i.e. {88} every alternate day. This last is rarely used by our people, who prefer to express it 'My father goes to town _every second day_.' Of two persons it is stated:

'You'd like to see them drinking from one cup, They took so loving _every second sup_.'

(Old Irish Folk Song.)

The simple phrase 'the other day' means a few days ago. 'When did you see your brother John?' 'Oh I saw him the other day.'

'The other day he sailed away and parted his dear Nancy.'

(Old Folk Song.)

The dropping of _thou_ was a distinct loss to the English language: for now _you_ has to do double duty--for both singular and plural--which sometimes leads to obscurity. The Irish try to avoid this obscurity by various devices. They always use _ye_ in the plural whenever possible: both as a nominative and as an objective: 'Where are ye going to-day?' 'I'm afeard that will be a dear journey to ye.' Accepting the _you_ as singular, they have created new forms for the plural such as _yous_, _yez_, _yiz_, which do not sound pleasant to a correct speaker, but are very clear in sense. In like manner they form a possessive case direct on _ye_. Some English soldiers are singing 'Lillibulero'--

'And our skeans we'll make good at de Englishman's throat,'

on which Cus Russed (one of the ambush) says--'That's true for ye at any rate. I'm laughing at the way we'll carry out _yeer_ song afore the day is over.' ('The House of Lisbloom,' by Robert D. Joyce.) Similarly '_weer_ own' is sometimes used for 'our own.' {89}

The distributive _every_ requires to be followed by pronouns in the singular: but this rule is broken even by well-known English writers:--'Every one for themselves' occurs in Robinson Crusoe; and in Ireland plurals are almost universally used. '_Let every one mind themselves_ as the ass said when he leaped into a flock of chickens.'

Father Burke has shown--a matter that had escaped me--that we often use the verbs _rest_ and _perish_ in an active sense. The first is seen in the very general Irish prayer 'God rest his soul.' Mangan uses the word in this sense in the Testament of Cathaeir Mor:--

'Here is the Will of Cathaeir Mor, God rest him.'

And John Keegan in 'Caoch O'Leary':--

'And there he sleeps his last sweet sleep-- God rest you, Caoch O'Leary.'

_Perish_ is quoted below in the saying--'That breeze would perish the Danes.'

We have many intensive words, some used locally, some generally:--'This is a _cruel_ wet day'; 'that old fellow is _cruel_ rich': that's a _cruel_ good man (where _cruel_ in all means _very_: Ulster). 'That girl is _fine and fat_: her cheeks are _fine and red_.' 'I was _dead fond_ of her' (very fond): but _dead certain_ occurs in 'Bleak House.' 'That tree has a _mighty_ great load of apples.' 'I want a drink badly; my throat is _powerful_ dry.' ('Shanahan's Ould Shebeen,' New York.) 'John Cusack is the finest dancer _at all_.' 'This day is _mortal_ cold.' 'I'm _black out_ with you.' {90} 'I'm very glad _entirely_ to hear it.' 'He is very sick _entirely_.' This word _entirely_ is one of our most general and characteristic intensives. 'He is a very good man _all out_.' 'This day is _guy and_ wet': 'that boy is _guy and_ fat' (Ulster). A half fool of a fellow looking at a four-wheeled carriage in motion: 'Aren't the little wheels _damn good_ not to let the big wheels overtake them.' In the early days of cycling a young friend of mine was riding on a five-foot wheel past two countrymen; when one remarked to the other:--'Tim, that's a _gallows_ way of travelling.' 'I was up _murdering_ late last night.' (Crofton Croker.)

In the Irish language there are many diminutive terminations, all giving the idea of 'little,' which will be found fully enumerated and illustrated in my 'Irish Names of Places,' vol. ii, chap. ii. Of these it may be said that only one--_in_ or _een_--has found its way into Ireland's English speech, carrying with it its full sense of smallness. There are others--_an_ or _aun_, and _og_ or _oge_; but these have in great measure lost their original signification; and although we use them in our Irish-English, they hardly convey any separate meaning. But _een_ is used everywhere: it is even constantly tacked on to Christian names (especially of boys and girls):--_Mickeen_ (little Mick), _Noreen_, _Billeen_, _Jackeen_ (a word applied to the conceited little Dublin citizen). So also you hear _Birdeen_, _Robineen_-redbreast, _bonniveen_, &c. A boy who apes to be a man--puts on airs like a man--is called a _manneen_ in contempt (exactly equivalent to the English _mannikin_). I knew a boy named Tommeen Trassy: and the name stuck to him even when he {91} was a great big whacker of a fellow six feet high. In the south this diminutive is long (_een_) and takes the accent: in the north it is made short (_in_) and is unaccented.

It is well known that three hundred years ago, and even much later, the correct English sound of the diphthong _ea_ was the same as long _a_ in _fate_: _sea_ pronounced _say_, &c. Any number of instances could be brought together from the English poets in illustration of this:--

'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the _sea_, And rides upon the storm.'

(COWPER (18th century).)

This sound has long since been abandoned in England, but is still preserved among the Irish people. You will hear everywhere in Ireland, 'a pound of _mate_,' 'a cup of _tay_,' 'you're as deep as the _say_,' &c.

'Kind sir be _aisy_ and do not _taize_ me with your false _praises_ most jestingly.'--(Old Irish Folk Song.)

(In this last line _easy_ and _teaze_ must be sounded so as to rhyme--assonantally--with _praises_).

Many years ago I was travelling on the long car from Macroom to Killarney. On the other side--at my back--sat a young gentleman--a 'superior person,' as anyone could gather from his _dandified_ speech. The car stopped where he was to get off: a tall fine-looking old gentleman was waiting for him, and nothing could exceed the dignity and kindness with which he received him. Pointing to {92} his car he said 'Come now and they'll get you a nice refreshing cup of _tay_.' 'Yes,' says the dandy, 'I shall be very glad to get a cup of _tee_'--laying a particular stress on _tee_. I confess I felt a shrinking of shame for our humanity. Now which of these two was the vulgarian?

The old sound of _ea_ is still retained--even in England--in the word _great_; but there was a long contest in the English Parliament over this word. Lord Chesterfield adopted the affected pronunciation (_greet_), saying that only an Irishman would call it _grate_. 'Single-speech Hamilton'--a Dublin man--who was considered, in the English House of Commons, a high authority on such matters, stoutly supported _grate_, and the influence of the Irish orators finally turned the scale. (Woollett.)

A similar statement may be made regarding the diphthong _ei_ and long _e_, that is to say, they were both formerly sounded like long _a_ in _fate_.

'Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race, In quiet flow from Lucrece to _Lucrece_.'

(POPE: 'Essay on Man.')

In the same essay Pope rhymes _sphere_ with _fair_, showing that he pronounced it _sphaire_. Our _hedge_ schoolmaster did the same thing in his song:--

Of all the maids on this terrestrial _sphaire_ Young Molly is the fairest of the fair.

'The plots are fruitless which my foe Unjustly did _conceive_; The pit he digg'd for me has proved His own untimely grave.'

(TATE AND BRADY.)

{93}

Our people generally retain the old sounds of long _e_ and _ei_; for they say _persaive_ for perceive, and _sevare_ for _severe_.

'The pardon he gave me was hard and _sevare_; 'Twas bind him, confine him, he's the rambler from Clare.'

Our Irish way of sounding both _ea_ and long _e_ is exemplified in what I heard a man say--a man who had some knowledge of Shakespeare--about a girl who was becoming somewhat of an old maid: 'She's now getting into the _sair_ and _yallow laif_.'

Observe, the correct old English sound of _ie_ and _ee_ has not changed: it is the same at present in England as it was formerly; and accordingly the Irish people always sound these correctly. They never say _praste_ for priest, _belave_ for believe, _indade_ for indeed, or _kape_ for keep, as some ignorant writers set down.

_Ate_ is pronounced _et_ by the educated English. In Munster the educated people pronounce it _ait_: 'Yesterday I _ait_ a good dinner'; and when _et_ is heard among the uneducated--as it generally is--it is considered very vulgar.

It appears that in correct old English _er_ was sounded _ar_--Dryden rhymes _certain_ with _parting_--and this is still retained in correct English in a few words, like _sergeant_, _clerk_, &c. Our people retain the old sound in most such words, as _sarvant_, _marchant_, _sartin_. But sometimes in their anxiety to avoid this vulgarity, they overdo the refinement: so that you will hear girls talk mincingly about _derning_ a stocking. This is like what happened in the case of one of our servant girls who took it into her head that {94} _mutton_ was a vulgar way of pronouncing the word, like _pudden'_ for _pudding_; so she set out with her new grand pronunciation; and one day rather astonished our butcher by telling him she wanted a small leg of _mutting_. I think this vulgarism is heard among the English peasantry too: though we have the honour and glory of evolving it independently.

All over Ireland you will hear the words _vault_ and _fault_ sounded _vaut_ and _faut_. 'If I don't be able to shine it will be none of my _faut_.' (Carleton, as cited by Hume.) We have retained this sound from old English:

Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought: A noble fool was never in a _fault_ [faut].

(POPE, cited by Hume.)

Goldsmith uses this pronunciation more than once; but whether he brought it from Ireland or took it from classical English writers, by whom it was used (as by Pope) almost down to his time, it is hard to say. For instance in 'The Deserted Village' he says of the Village Master:--

'Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught The love he bore to learning was in _fault_' [faut].

I remember reading many years ago a criticism of Goldsmith by a well-known Irish professor of English literature, in which the professor makes great fun, as a 'superior person,' of the _Hibernicism_ in the above couplet, evidently ignorant of the fact, which Dr. Hume has well brought out, that it is classical English. {95}

In many parts of Munster there is a tendency to give the long _a_ the sound of _a_ in _car_, _father_:--

Were I Paris whose deeds are _vaarious_ And _arbithraather_ on Ida's hill.

(Old Folk Song--'The Colleen Rue.')[1]

The _gladiaathers_ both bold and darling, Each night and morning to watch the flowers.

(Old Folk Song--'Castlehyde.')[1]

So, an intelligent peasant,--a born orator, but illiterate in so far as he could neither read nor write,--told me that he was a _spectaathor_ at one of O'Connell's Repeal meetings: and the same man, in reply to a strange gentleman's inquiry as to who planted a certain wood up the hill, replied that the trees were not planted--they grew _spontaan-yus_.

I think this is a remnant of the old classical teaching of Munster: though indeed I ought to mention that the same tendency is found in Monaghan, where on every possible occasion the people give this sound to long a.

_D_ before long _u_ is generally sounded like _j_; as in _projuce_ for _produce_: the _Juke_ of Wellington, &c. Many years ago I knew a fine old gentleman from Galway. He wished to make people believe that in the old fighting times, when he was a young man, he was a desperate _gladiaathor_; but he really was a gentle creature who never in all his born days hurt man or mortal. Talking one day to some workmen in Kildare, and recounting his exploits, he told them {96} that he was now _harrished_ every night by the ghosts of all the _min_ he killed in _juels_.

So _s_ before long _u_ is sounded _sh_: Dan Kiely, a well-to-do young farmer, told the people of our neighbourhood that he was now looking out for a wife that would _shoot_ him. This pronunciation is however still sometimes heard in words of correct English, as in _sure_.

There are some consonants of the Irish language which when they come together do not coalesce in sound, as they would in an English word, so that when they are uttered a very short obscure vowel sound is heard between them: and a native Irish speaker cannot avoid this. By a sort of hereditary custom this peculiarity finds its way into our pronunciation of English. Thus _firm_ is sounded in Ireland _ferrum_--two distinct syllables: 'that bird is looking for a _wurrum_.' _Form_ (a seat) we call a _furrum_.

'His sire he'd seek no more nor descend to Mammon's shore, Nor venture on the tyrant's dire _alaa-rums_, But daily place his care on that emblematic fair, Till he'd barter coronations for her _chaa-rums_.'

(Old Folk Song.)[2]

_Herb_ is sounded _errub_: and we make two syllables of the name Charles [Char-less]. At the time of the Bulgarian massacres, I knew a Dublin doctor, a Tipperary man, who felt very strongly on the subject and was constantly talking about the poor _Bullugarians_.

In the County Monaghan and indeed elsewhere {97} in Ireland, _us_ is sounded _huz_, which might seem a Cockney vulgarism, but I think it is not. In Roscommon and in the Munster counties a thong is called a _fong_.

_Chaw_ for _chew_, _oncet_ [wonst] for _once_, _twiced_ for _twice_, and _heighth_, _sighth_, for _height_, _sight_, which are common in Ireland, are all old English survivals. Thus in the 'Faerie Queene' (Bk. I., Canto IV., XXX.):--

'And next to him malicious Envy rode Upon a ravenous wolfe and still did _chaw_ Between his cankred teeth a venomous tode.'

_Chaw_ is also much used in America. '_Onst_ for once, is in the Chester Plays' (Lowell); and _highth_ for _height_ is found all through 'Paradise Lost.' So also we have _drooth_ for _drought_:--

'Like other historians I'll stick to the truth While I sing of the monarch who died of the _drooth_.'

(SAM LOVER.)

_Joist_ is sounded _joice_ in Limerick; and _catch_ is everywhere pronounced _ketch_.

The word _hither_ is pronounced in Ireland _hether_, which is the correct old English usage, but long since abandoned in England. Thus in a State Paper of 1598, we read that two captains returned _hether_: and in Spenser's 'View,' he mentions a 'colony [sent] _hether_ out of Spaine.'

'An errant knight or any other wight That _hether_ turns his steps.' ('Faerie Queene.')

Hence we have coined the word _comether_, for _come-hether_, to denote a sort of spell brought about {98} by coaxing, wheedling, making love, &c.--as in the phrase 'she put her _comether_ on him, so that he married her up at once.' 'There'll not be six girls in the fair he'll not be putting the _comether_ on.' (Seumas MacManus.)

The family name 'Bermingham' is always made _Brimmigem_ in Ireland, which is a very old English corruption. In Friar Clyn's Annals (Latin) written in the fourteenth century, the death is recorded in 1329 of Johannes de _Brimegham_, i.e., the celebrated Sir John Bermingham who defeated Edward Bruce at Faughart.

Leap is pronounced _lep_ by our people; and in racing circles it is still so pronounced by all classes. The little village of Leap in the County Cork is always called _Lep_.

There is a curious tendency among us to reverse the sounds of certain letters, as for instance _sh_ and _ch_. 'When you're coming home to-morrow bring the spade and _chovel_, and a pound of butter fresh from the _shurn_.' 'That _shimney_ doesn't draw the smoke well.' So with the letters _u_ and _i_. 'When I was crossing the _brudge_ I dropped the sweeping _brish_ into the _ruvver_.' 'I never saw _sich_ a sight.' But such words are used only by the very uneducated. _Brudge_ for _bridge_ and the like are however of old English origin. 'Margaret, mother of Henry VII, writes _seche_ for _such_' (Lowell). So in Ireland:--'_Jestice_ is all I ax,' says Mosy in the story ('Ir. Pen. Mag.); and _churries_ for _cherries_ ('Knocknagow'). This tendency corresponds with the vulgar use of _h_ in London and elsewhere in England. 'The 'en has just laid a _hegg_': 'he was singing My 'art's in the {99} 'ighlands or The Brave Old _Hoak_.' (Washington Irving.)

_Squeeze_ is pronounced _squeedge_ and _crush_ _scroodge_ in Donegal and elsewhere; but corruptions like these are found among the English peasantry--as may be seen in Dickens.

'You had better _rinsh_ that glass' is heard everywhere in Ireland: an old English survival; for Shakespeare and Lovelace have _renched_ for _rinced_ (Lowell): which with the Irish sound of short _e_ before _n_ gives us our word _rinshed_.

Such words as _old_, _cold_, _hold_ are pronounced by the Irish people _ould_, _cowld_, _hould_ (or _howlt_); _gold_ is sounded _goold_ and _ford_ _foord_. I once heard an old Wicklow woman say of some very rich people 'why these people could _ait goold_.' These are all survivals of the old English way of pronouncing such words. In the State Papers of Elizabeth's time you will constantly meet with such words as _hoult_ and _stronghowlt_ (hold and stronghold.) In my boyhood days I knew a great large sinewy active woman who lived up in the mountain gap, and who was universally known as 'Thunder the _cowlt_ from Poulaflaikeen' (_cowlt_ for _colt_); Poulaflaikeen, the high pass between Glenosheen and Glenanaar, Co. Limerick, for which see Dr. R. D. Joyce's 'Ballads of Irish Chivalry,' pp. 102, 103, 120.

Old Tom Howlett, a Dublin job gardener, speaking to me of the management of fruit trees, recommended the use of butchers' waste. 'Ah sir'--said he, with a luscious roll in his voice as if he had been licking his lips--'Ah sir, there's nothing for the roots of an apple tree like a big tub of fine rotten _ould_ guts,' {100}

Final _d_ is often omitted after _l_ and _n_: you will see this everywhere in Seumas MacManus's books for Donegal. Recently we were told by the attendant boy at one of the Dublin seaside baths that the prices were--'a shilling for the hot and sixpence for the _cowl_.' So we constantly use _an'_ for _and_: in a Waterford folk song we have 'Here's to the swan that sails on the _pon_' (the 'swan' being the poet's sweetheart): and I once heard a man say to another in a fair:--'That horse is sound in win' and limb.'

Short _e_ is always sounded before _n_ and _m_, and sometimes in other positions, like short _i_: 'How many arrived?' '_Tin min_ and five women': 'He always smoked a pipe with a long _stim_.' If you ask a person for a pin, he will inquire 'Is it a brass pin or a writing _pin_ you want?'

_Again_ is sounded by the Irish people _agin_, which is an old English survival. 'Donne rhymes _again_ with _sin_, and Quarles repeatedly with _in_.' (Lowell.) An Irishman was once landed on the coast of some unknown country where they spoke English. Some violent political dispute happened to be going on there at the time, and the people eagerly asked the stranger about his political views; on which--instinctively giving expression to the feelings he brought with him from the 'ould sod'--he promptly replied before making any inquiry--'I'm agin the Government.' This story, which is pretty well known, is a faked one; but it affords us a good illustration.

_Onion_ is among our people always pronounced _ingion_: constantly heard in Dublin. 'Go out Mike {101} for the _ingions_,' as I once heard a woman say in Limerick.

'Men are of different opinions, Some like leeks and some like _ingions_.'

This is old English; 'in one of Dodsley's plays we have _onions_ rhyming with _minions_' (Lowell.)

The general _English_ tendency is to put back the accent as far from the end of the word as possible. But among our people there is a contrary tendency--to throw forward the accent; as in _ex-cel'lent_, his _Ex-cel'-lency_--Nas-sau' Street (Dublin), Ar-bu'-tus, commit-tee', her-e-dit'tary.

'Tele-mach'us though so grand ere the sceptre reached his hand.'

(Old Irish Folk Song.)

In Gough's Arithmetic there was a short section on the laws of radiation and of pendulums. When I was a boy I once heard one of the old schoolmasters reading out, in his grandiloquent way, for the people grouped round Ardpatrick chapel gate after Mass, his formidable prospectus of the subjects he could teach, among which were 'the _raddiation_ of light and heat and the vibrations of swinging _pen-joo'lums_.' The same fine old scholarly pedant once remarked that our neighbourhood was a very _moun-taan'-yus_ locality. A little later on in my life, when I had written some pieces in high-flown English--as young writers will often do--one of these schoolmasters--a much lower class of man than the last--said to me by way of compliment: 'Ah! Mr. Joyce, you have a fine _voca-bull'ery_.'

_Mischievous_ is in the south accented on the second syllable--_Mis-chee'-vous_: but I have come across this {102} in Spenser's Faerie Queene. We accent _character_ on the second syllable:--

'Said he in a whisper to my benefactor, Though good your _charac'ter_ has been of that lad.'

(Song by Mr. Patrick Murray of Kilfinane, a schoolmaster of great ability: about 1840).

One of my school companions once wrote an ode in praise of Algebra, of which unfortunately I remember only the opening line: but this fragment shows how we pronounced the word in our old schools in the days of yore:--

'Hail sweet _al-jib'era_, you're my heart's delight.'

There is an Irish ballad about the people of Tipperary that I cannot lay my hands on, which speaks of the

'Tipperary boys, Although we are cross and _contrairy_ boys';

and this word 'contrairy' is universal in Munster.

In Tipperary the vowel _i_ is generally sounded _oi_. Mick Hogan a Tipperary boy--he was a man indeed--was a pupil in Mr. Condon's school in Mitchelstown, with the full rich typical accent. One morning as he walked in, a fellow pupil, Tom Burke--a big fellow too--with face down on desk over a book, said, without lifting his head--to make fun of him--'_foine_ day, Mick.' 'Yes,' said Mick as he walked past, at the same time laying his hand on Tom's poll and punching his nose down hard against the desk. Tom let Mick alone after that 'foine day.' Farther south, and in many places all over Ireland, they do the reverse:--'The kettle is _biling_';

'She smiled on me like the morning sky, And she won the heart of the prentice _bye_.'

(Old Irish Folk Song.)

{103}

The old English pronunciation of _oblige_ was _obleege_:--

'Dreaded by fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.'

(POPE.)

Among the old-fashioned and better-educated of our peasantry you will still hear this old pronunciation preserved:--I am very much obleeged to you. It is now generally heard in Kildare among all classes. A similar tendency is in the sound of _whine_, which in Munster is always made _wheen_: 'What's that poor child _wheening_ for?' also everywhere heard:--'All danger [of the fever] is now past: he is over his _creesis_.'

Metathesis, or the changing of the place of a letter or syllable in a word, is very common among the Irish people, as _cruds_ for _curds_, _girn_ for _grin_, _purty_ for _pretty_. I heard a man quoting from Shakespeare about Puck--from hearsay: he said he must have been a wonderful fellow, for he could put a _griddle_ round about the earth in forty minutes.' I knew a fellow that could never say _traveller_: it was always _throlliver_.

There is a tendency here as elsewhere to shorten many words: You will hear _garner_ for _gardener_, _ornary_ for _ordinary_. The late Cardinal Cullen was always spoken of by a friend of mine who revered him, as _The Carnal_.

_My_ and _by_ are pronounced _me_ and _be_ all over Ireland: Now _me_ boy I expect you home _be_ six o'clock.

The obscure sound of _e_ and _i_ heard in _her_ and _fir_ is hardly known in Ireland, at least among the general run of people. _Her_ is made either _herr_ or _hur_. They sound _sir_ either _surr_ (to rhyme with cur), {104} or _serr_; but in this latter case they always give the _r_ or _rr_ what is called the slender sound in Irish, which there is no means of indicating by English letters. _Fir_ is also sounded either _fur_ or _ferr_ (a _fur_ tree or a _ferr_ tree). _Furze_ is pronounced rightly; but they take it to be a plural, and so you will often hear the people say _a fur bush_ instead of _a furze bush_.

In other classes of words _i_ before _r_ is mispronounced. A young fellow, Johnny Brien, objected to go by night on a message that would oblige him to pass by an empty old house that had the reputation of being haunted, because, as he said, he was afeard of the _sperrit_.

In like manner, _miracle_ is pronounced _merricle_. Jack Finn--a little busybody noted for perpetually jibing at sacred things--Jack one day, with innocence in his face, says to Father Tom, 'Wisha I'd be terrible thankful entirely to your reverence to tell me what a merricle is, for I could never understand it.' 'Oh yes Jack,' says the big priest good-naturedly, as he stood ready equipped for a long ride to a sick call--poor old Widow Dwan up in the mountain gap: 'Just tell me exactly how many cows are grazing in that field there behind you.' Jack, chuckling at the fun that was coming on, turned round to count, on which Father Tom dealt him a hearty kick that sent him sprawling about three yards. He gathered himself up as best he could; but before he had time to open his mouth the priest asked, 'Did you feel that Jack?' 'Oh Blood-an ... Yerra of course I did your reverence, why the blazes wouldn't I!' 'Well Jack,' replied Father Tom, benignly, 'If you didn't feel it--_that_ would be a _merricle_.' {105}

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