Part 8

The same year saw the publication of the first edition of [Pg070] Webster's American Dictionary of the English language, and a year later followed Samuel L. Knapp's "Lectures on American Literature," the first history of the national letters ever attempted. Knapp, in his preface, thought it necessary to prove, first of all, that an American literature actually existed, and Webster, in his introduction, was properly apologetic, but there was no real need for timorousness in either case, for the American attitude toward the attack of the English was now definitely changing from uneasiness to defiance. The English critics, in fact, had overdone the thing, and though their clatter was to keep up for many years more, they no longer spread terror or had much influence. Of a sudden, as if in answer to them, doubts turned to confidence, and then into the wildest sort of optimism, not only in politics and business, but also in what passed for the arts. Knapp boldly defied the English to produce a "tuneful sister" surpassing Mrs. Sigourney; more, he argued that the New World, if only by reason of its superior scenic grandeur, would eventually hatch a poetry surpassing even that of Greece and Rome. "What are the Tibers and Scamanders," he demanded, "measured by the Missouri and the Amazon? Or what the loveliness of Illysus or Avon by the Connecticut or the Potomack?"

In brief, the national feeling, long delayed at birth, finally leaped into being in amazing vigor. "One can get an idea of the strength of that feeling," says R. O. Williams, "by glancing at almost any book taken at random from the American publications of the period. Belief in the grand future of the United States is the key-note of everything said and done. All things American are to be grand--our territory, population, products, wealth, science, art--but especially our political institutions and literature. The unbounded confidence in the material development of the country which now characterizes the extreme northwest of the United States prevailed as strongly throughout the eastern part of the Union during the first thirty years of the century; and over and above a belief in, and concern for, materialistic progress, there were enthusiastic anticipations of achievements in all the moral and intellectual fields of national [Pg071] greatness."[10] Nor was that vast optimism wholly without warrant. An American literature was actually coming into being, and with a wall of hatred and contempt shutting in England, the new American writers were beginning to turn to the Continent for inspiration and encouragement. Irving had already drunk at Spanish springs; Emerson and Bayard Taylor were to receive powerful impulses from Germany, following Ticknor, Bancroft and Everett before them; Bryant was destined to go back to the classics. Moreover, Cooper and John P. Kennedy had shown the way to native sources of literary material, and Longfellow was making ready to follow them; novels in imitation of English models were no longer heard of; the ground was preparing for "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Finally, Webster himself, as Williams demonstrated, worked better than he knew. His American Dictionary was not only thoroughly American: it was superior to any of the current dictionaries of the English, so much so that for a good many years it remained "a sort of mine for British lexicography to exploit."

Thus all hesitations disappeared, and there arose a national consciousness so soaring and so blatant that it began to dismiss all British usage and opinion as puerile and idiotic. William L. Marcy, when Secretary of State under Pierce (1853-57), issued a circular to all American diplomatic and consular officers, loftily bidding them employ only "the American language" in communicating with him. The Legislature of Indiana, in an act approved February 15, 1838, establishing the state university at Bloomington,[11] provided that it should instruct the youth of the new commonwealth (it had been admitted to the Union in 1816) "in the American, learned and foreign languages ... and literature." Such grandiose pronunciamentos [Pg072] well indicate and explain the temper of the era.[12] It was a time of expansion and braggadocia. The new republic would not only produce a civilization and a literature of its own; it would show the way for all other civilizations and literatures. Rufus Wilmot Griswold, the enemy of Poe, rose from his decorous Baptist pew to protest that so much patriotism amounted to insularity and absurdity, but there seems to have been no one to second the motion. It took, indeed, the vast shock of the Civil War to unhorse the optimists. While the Jackson influence survived, it was the almost unanimous national conviction that "he who dallies is a dastard, and he who doubts is damned."

§ 2

/The Language in the Making/--All this jingoistic bombast, however, was directed toward defending, not so much the national vernacular as the national beautiful letters. True enough, an English attack upon a definite American locution always brought out certain critical minute-men, but in the main they were anything but hospitable to the racy neologisms that kept crowding up from below, and most of them were eager to be accepted as masters of orthodox English and very sensitive to the charge that their writing was bestrewn with Americanisms. A glance through the native criticism of the time will show how ardently even the most uncompromising patriots imitated the Johnsonian jargon then fashionable in England. Fowler and Griswold followed pantingly in the footsteps of Macaulay; their prose is extraordinarily ornate and self-conscious, and one searches it in vain for any concession to colloquialism. Poe, the master of them all, achieved a style so elephantine that many an English leader-writer must have studied it with envy. A few bolder spirits, as we have seen, spoke out for national freedom in language as well as in letters--among them, Channing--but in the main the Brahmins of the time were conservatives in [Pg073] that department, and it is difficult to imagine Emerson or Irving or Bryant sanctioning the innovations later adopted so easily by Howells. Lowell and Walt Whitman, in fact, were the first men of letters, properly so called, to give specific assent to the great changes that were firmly fixed in the national speech during the half century between the War of 1812 and the Civil War. Lowell did so in his preface to the second series of "The Biglow Papers." Whitman made his declaration in "An American Primer." In discussing his own poetry, he said: "It is an attempt to give the spirit, the body and the man, new words, new potentialities of speech--an American, a cosmopolitan (for the best of America is the best cosmopolitanism) range of self-expression." And then: "The Americans are going to be the most fluent and melodious-voiced people in the world--and the most perfect users of words. The new times, the new people, the new vistas need a new tongue according--yes, and what is more, they will have such a new tongue." To which, as everyone knows, Whitman himself forthwith contributed many daring (and still undigested) novelties, /e. g./, /camerado/, /romanza/, /Adamic/ and /These States/.

Meanwhile, in strong contrast to the lingering conservatism above there was a wild and lawless development of the language below, and in the end it forced itself into recognition, and profited by the literary declaration of independence of its very opponents. "The /jus et norma loquendi/," says W. R. Morfill, the English philologist, "do not depend upon scholars." Particularly in a country where scholarship is still new and wholly cloistered, and the overwhelming majority of the people are engaged upon novel and highly exhilarating tasks, far away from schools and with a gigantic cockiness in their hearts. The remnants of the Puritan civilization had been wiped out by the rise of the proletariat under Jackson, and whatever was fine and sensitive in it had died with it. What remained of an urbane habit of mind and utterance began to be confined to the narrowing feudal areas of the south, and to the still narrower refuge of the Boston Brahmins, now, for the first time, a definitely recognized caste of /intelligentsia/, self-charged with carrying the [Pg074] torch of culture through a new Dark Age. The typical American, in Paulding's satirical phrase, became "a bundling, gouging, impious" fellow, without either "morals, literature, religion or refinement." Next to the savage struggle for land and dollars, party politics was the chief concern of the people, and with the disappearance of the old leaders and the entrance of pushing upstarts from the backwoods, political controversy sank to an incredibly low level. Bartlett, in the introduction to the second edition of his Glossary, describes the effect upon the language. First the enfranchised mob, whether in the city wards or along the western rivers, invented fantastic slang-words and turns of phrase; then they were "seized upon by stump-speakers at political meetings"; then they were heard in Congress; then they got into the newspapers; and finally they came into more or less good usage. Much contemporary evidence is to the same effect. Fowler, in listing "low expressions" in 1850, described them as "chiefly political." "The vernacular tongue of the country," said Daniel Webster, "has become greatly vitiated, depraved and corrupted by the style of the congressional debates." Thornton, in the appendix to his Glossary, gives some astounding specimens of congressional oratory between the 20's and 60's, and many more will reward the explorer who braves the files of the /Congressional Globe/. This flood of racy and unprecedented words and phrases beat upon and finally penetrated the retreat of the /literati/, but the purity of speech cultivated there had little compensatory influence upon the vulgate. The newspaper was now enthroned, and /belles lettres/ were cultivated almost in private, and as a mystery. It is probable, indeed, that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Ten Nights in a Bar-room," both published in the early 50's, were the first contemporary native books, after Cooper's day, that the American people, as a people, ever read. Nor did the pulpit, now fast falling from its old high estate, lift a corrective voice. On the contrary, it joined the crowd, and Bartlett denounces it specifically for its bad example, and cites, among its crimes against the language, such inventions as /to doxologize/ and /to funeralize/. [Pg075] To these novelties, apparently without any thought of their uncouthness, Fowler adds to /missionate/ and /consociational/.

As I say, the pressure from below broke down the defenses of the purists, and literally forced a new national idiom upon them. Pen in hand, they might still achieve laborious imitations of Johnson and Macaulay, but their mouths began to betray them. "When it comes to talking," wrote Charles Astor Bristed for Englishmen in 1855, "the most refined and best educated American, who has habitually resided in his own country, the very man who would write, on some serious topic, volumes in which no peculiarity could be detected, will, in half a dozen sentences, use at least as many words that cannot fail to strike the inexperienced Englishman who hears them for the first time." Bristed gave a specimen of the American of that time, calculated to flabbergast his inexperienced Englishman; you will find it in the volume of Cambridge Essays, already cited. His aim was to explain and defend Americanisms, and so shut off the storm of English reviling, and he succeeded in producing one of the most thoughtful and persuasive essays on the subject ever written. But his purpose failed and the attack kept up, and eight years afterward the Very Rev. Henry Alford, D.D., dean of Canterbury, led a famous assault. "Look at those phrases," he said, "which so amuse us in their speech and books; at their reckless exaggeration and contempt for congruity; and then compare the character and history of the nation--its blunted sense of moral obligation and duty to man; its open disregard of conventional right where aggrandizement is to be obtained; and I may now say, its reckless and fruitless maintenance of the most cruel and unprincipled war in the history of the world."[13] In his American edition of 1866 Dr. Alford withdrew this reference to the Civil War and somewhat ameliorated his indignation otherwise, but he clung to the main counts in his indictment, and most Englishmen, I daresay, still give them a certain support. The American is no longer a [Pg076] "vain, egotistical, insolent, rodomontade sort of fellow"; America is no longer the "brigand confederation" of the /Foreign Quarterly/ or "the loathsome creature, ... maimed and lame, full of sores and ulcers" of Dickens; but the Americanism is yet regarded with a bilious eye, and pounced upon viciously when found. Even the friendliest English critics seem to be daunted by the gargantuan copiousness of American inventions in speech. Their position, perhaps, was well stated by Capt. Basil Hall, author of the celebrated "Travels in North America," in 1827. When he argued that "surely such innovations are to be deprecated," an American asked him this question: "If a word becomes universally current in America, why should it not take its station in the language?" "Because," replied Hall in all seriousness, "there are words enough in our language already."

§ 3

/The Expanding Vocabulary/--A glance at some of the characteristic coinages of the time, as they are revealed in the /Congressional Globe/, in contemporary newspapers and political tracts, and in that grotesque small literature of humor which began with Judge Thomas C. Haliburton's "Sam Slick" in 1835, is almost enough to make one sympathize with Dean Alford. Bartlett quotes /to doxologize/ from the /Christian Disciple/, a quite reputable religious paper of the 40's. /To citizenize/ was used and explained by Senator Young, of Illinois, in the Senate on February 1, 1841, and he gave Noah Webster as authority for it. /To funeralize/ and /to missionate/, along with /consociational/, were contributions of the backwoods pulpit; perhaps it also produced /hell-roaring/ and /hellion/, the latter of which was a favorite of the Mormons and even got into a sermon by Henry Ward Beecher. /To deacon/, a verb of decent mien in colonial days, signifying to read a hymn line by line, responded to the rough humor of the time, and began to mean to swindle or adulterate, /e. g./, to put the largest berries at the top of the box, to extend one's fences /sub rosa/, or to mix sand with sugar. A great rage for extending the vocabulary by the use of suffixes seized upon [Pg077] the corn-fed etymologists, and they produced a formidable new vocabulary in /-ize/, /-ate/, /-ify/, /-acy/, /-ous/ and /-ment/. Such inventions as /to obligate/, /to concertize/, /to questionize/, /retiracy/, /savagerous/, /coatee/ (a sort of diminutive for coat) and /citified/ appeared in the popular vocabulary, and even got into more or less good usage. Fowler, in 1850, cited /publishment/ and /releasement/ with no apparent thought that they were uncouth. And at the same time many verbs were made by the simple process of back formation, as, /to resurrect/, /to excurt/, /to resolute/, /to burgle/[14] and /to enthuse/.[15]

Some of these inventions, after flourishing for a generation or more, were retired with blushes during the period of aesthetic consciousness following the Civil War, but a large number have survived to our own day, and are in good usage. Not even the most bilious purist would think of objecting to /to affiliate/, /to itemize/, /to resurrect/ or /to Americanize/ today, and yet all of them gave grief to the judicious when they first appeared in the debates of Congress, brought there by statesmen from the backwoods. Nor to such simpler verbs of the period as /to corner/ (/i. e./, the market), /to boss/ and /to lynch/.[16] Nor perhaps to /to boom/, /to boost/, /to kick/ (in the sense of to protest), /to coast/ (on a sled), /to engineer/, /to collide/, /to chink/ (/i. e./, logs), /to feaze/, /to splurge/, /to aggravate/ (in the sense of to anger), /to yank/ and /to crawfish/. These verbs have entered into the very fibre of the American vulgate, and so have many nouns derived from them, /e. g./, /boomer/, /boom-town/, /bouncer/, /kicker/, /kick/, /splurge/, /roller-coaster/. A few of them, /e. g./, /to collide/ and /to feaze/, were [Pg078] archaic English terms brought to new birth; a few others, /e. g./, /to holler/[17] and /to muss/, were obviously mere corruptions. But a good many others, /e. g./, /to bulldoze/, /to hornswoggle/ and /to scoot/, were genuine inventions, and redolent of the soil.

With the new verbs came a great swarm of verb-phrases, some of them short and pithy and others extraordinarily elaborate, but all showing the true national talent for condensing a complex thought, and often a whole series of thoughts, into a vivid and arresting image. Of the first class are /to fill the bill/, /to fizzle out/, /to make tracks/, /to peter out/, /to plank down/, /to go back on/, /to keep tab/, /to light out/ and /to back water/. Side by side with them we have inherited such common coins of speech as /to make the fur fly/, /to cut a swath/, /to know him like a book/, /to keep a stiff upper lip/, /to cap the climax/, /to handle without gloves/, /to freeze on to/, /to go it blind/, /to pull wool over his eyes/, /to know the ropes/, /to get solid with/, /to spread one's self/, /to run into the ground/, /to dodge the issue/, /to paint the town red/, /to take a back seat/ and /to get ahead of/. These are so familiar that we use them and hear them without thought; they seem as authentically parts of the English idiom as /to be left at the post/. And yet, as the labors of Thornton have demonstrated, all of them are of American nativity, and the circumstances surrounding the origin of some of them have been accurately determined. Many others are palpably the products of the great movement toward the West, for example, /to pan out/, /to strike it rich/, /to jump/ or /enter a claim/, /to pull up stakes/, /to rope in/, /to die with one's boots on/, /to get the deadwood on/, /to get the drop/, /to back and fill/ (a steamboat phrase used figuratively) and /to get the bulge on/. And in many others the authentic American is no less plain, for example, in /to kick the bucket/, /to put a bug in his [Pg079] ear/, /to see the elephant/, /to crack up/, /to do up brown/, /to bark up the wrong tree/, /to jump on with both feet/, /to go the whole hog/, /to make a kick/, /to buck the tiger/, /to let it slide/ and /to come out at the little end of the horn/. /To play possum/ belongs to this list. To it Thornton adds /to knock into a cocked hat/, despite its English sound, and /to have an ax to grind/. /To go for/, both in the sense of belligerency and in that of partisanship, is also American, and so is /to go through/ (/i. e./, to plunder).

Of adjectives the list is scarcely less long. Among the coinages of the first half of the century that are in good use today are /non-committal/, /highfalutin/, /well-posted/, /down-town/, /played-out/, /flat-footed/, /whole-souled/ and /true-blue/. The first appears in a Senate debate of 1841; /highfalutin/ in a political speech of the same decade. Both are useful words; it is impossible, not employing them, to convey the ideas behind them without circumlocution. The use of /slim/ in the sense of meagre, as in /slim chance/, /slim attendance/ and /slim support/, goes back still further. The English use /small/ in place of it. Other, and less respectable contributions of the time are /brash/, /brainy/, /peart/, /locoed/, /pesky/, /picayune/, /scary/, /well-heeled/, /hardshell/ (/e. g./, Baptist), /low-flung/, /codfish/ (to indicate opprobrium) and /go-to-meeting/. The use of /plumb/ as an adjective, as in /plumb crazy/, is an English archaism that was revived in the United States in the early years of the century. In the more orthodox adverbial form of /plump/ it still survives, for example, in "she fell /plump/ into his arms." But this last is also good English.

The characteristic American substitution of /mad/ for /angry/ goes back to the eighteenth century, and perhaps denotes the survival of an English provincialism. Witherspoon noticed it and denounced it in 1781, and in 1816 Pickering called it "low" and said that it was not used "except in very familiar conversation." But it got into much better odor soon afterward, and by 1840 it passed unchallenged. Its use is one of the peculiarities that Englishmen most quickly notice in American colloquial speech today. In formal written discourse it is less often encountered, probably because the English marking of it has so conspicuously singled it out. But it is constantly met with [Pg080] in the newspapers and in the /Congressional Record/, and it is not infrequently used by such writers as Howells and Dreiser. In the familiar simile, /as mad as a hornet/, it is used in the American sense. But /as mad as a March hare/ is English, and connotes insanity, not mere anger. The English meaning of the word is preserved in /mad-house/ and /mad-dog/, but I have often noticed that American rustics, employing the latter term, derive from it a vague notion, not that the dog is demented, but that it is in a simple fury. From this notion, perhaps, comes the popular belief that dogs may be thrown into hydrophobia by teasing and badgering them.

It was not, however, among the verbs and adjectives that the American word-coiners of the first half of the century achieved their gaudiest innovations, but among the substantives. Here they had temptation and excuse in plenty, for innumerable new objects and relations demanded names, and here they exercised their fancy without restraint. Setting aside loan words, which will be considered later, three main varieties of new nouns were thus produced. The first consisted of English words rescued from obsolescence or changed in meaning, the second of compounds manufactured of the common materials of the mother tongue, and the third of entirely new inventions. Of the first class, good specimens are /deck/ (of cards), /gulch/, /gully/ and /billion/, the first three old English words restored to usage in America and the last a sound English word changed in meaning. Of the second class, examples are offered by /gum-shoe/, /mortgage-shark/, /dug-out/, /shot-gun/, /stag-party/, /wheat-pit/, /horse-sense/, /chipped-beef/, /oyster-supper/, /buzz-saw/, /chain-gang/ and /hell-box/. And of the third there are instances in /buncombe/, /greaser/, /conniption/, /bloomer/, /campus/, /galoot/, /maverick/, /roustabout/, /bugaboo/ and /blizzard/.